


Let me in your heart again

by lyllytas



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Flashbacks, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Miracles, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Recovery, Recovery is Messy, Sexual Abuse, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Whipping, Wing Grooming, fear of touch, power binding, sadists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyllytas/pseuds/lyllytas
Summary: What if things had turned out differently after the fight about the holy water?Can Aziraphale help mend the wounds?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 194
Kudos: 228





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found this fic Way Back in my drafts. I'm pretty sure it got lost in the brain surgery craziness that happened when the show first came out. But I'm trying to clean it up now, I hope you guys enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things turn out very different after the holy water fight. Crowley doesn't sleep it off, instead...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much graphic in this chapter. just setting the plot up!  
> Tags at the bottom note

Aziraphale and Crowley have been on this Earth for a _very_ long time. As such, they do tend go long periods of time without talking; it is simply not that uncommon. And considering his last 'talk' with Crowley had been a fight, it's no surprise to him at all that the demon don't want to seek out his company. Crowley really can sulk for absolutely ages and ages when he's upset; so Aziraphale just keeps living his life.

<~>

Getting disincorporated by Nazis, well that was an _entirely_ unpleasant experience. But worst of all, Aziraphale had lost his books. _Shame_ really. Some of them had been very valuable, and one of them he'd had to fix the binding himself. All for nothing. Time wasted!

<~>

When Aziraphale finally makes it up to do the paperwork for his new body, he makes a casual mention of thwarting the opposition and the angel at the desk shrugs. “It's been a couple years since you've been on Earth. No one has heard from the demon Crowley in a _quite_ while. Find out what he's up to. It's got to be something big he's putting together. We don't like it.”

Aziraphale doesn't like it either.

Yes, there is lots of paperwork to do. But the entire time he's filling out forms he's wondering where Crowley is.

He takes his new body and heads to Earth.

<~>

Aziraphale decides his first stop is Crowley's flat.

Only his key doesn't work in the door. Aziraphale could just enter; force the lock to let him in, but after how the last conversation ended, he isn't sure that's the best course of action. So he knocks.

The face at the door isn't one he's expecting.

“Oh, terribly sorry. I was looking for an old friend of mine. Is Crowley in perhaps?” He tries to look around her but she pulls the door close to her.

“Crowley? I do still get his mail sometimes. I've been here for 25 years. Still getting those credit card applications for Mr. Anthony J Crowley. Bloodsucking banks." She rolls her eyes. "There's no Crowley here, hasn't been for a _long_ time. Sorry. He's moved on years and years ago. Good luck tracking him down though.”

The door closes and Aziraphale is left bewildered on the steps. _She's lived here for years?_

_< ~>_

Next, Aziraphale tries all of Crowley's usual haunts. He scries for him. When that doesn't work, he expands his search. He extends his network as far as it will go, and talks to plenty of unsavory characters. He greases palms and goes on hints of rumors, trying to track down any trace of his friend. Their last conversation had ended on such a sour note, and it's been _too_ long. It's taking too much effort to find him. He's _worried._

“Where are you Crowley?” Aziraphale asks himself after another day turns up wasted.

<~>

He continues to go to such dreadful places where he sticks out like a sore thumb, and attempts so hard to get the information he needs. He tries each lead and every lead. None of them have panned out. At the very least he's put a stop to several _unsavory_ practices which gets him commendations from upstairs, not that that is what he was after. He had just wanted them to stop what they were doing. And it has the benefit of getting Heaven off his back for a while.

He seeks out any indication of demons and the occult, and wonders just what kind of scheme Crowley's involved in now that requires _this_ much secrecy.

Aziraphale is getting positively desperate by the time he hears talks that there are some dangerous men in Portugal who have some kind of devil creature as a pet. He wonders if Crowley has perhaps brought a hell-hound or something up for whatever he's planning. If he did, these men might know how to contact the demon. It's the closest he's been in all this time, he has to check it out.

And he wants, oh he _wants_ to see his friend again.

<~>

Inserting himself into this rubbish 'sadomasochist group' of theirs takes money and a couple of well used miracles so that suspicion slides off him like water and he's trusted. Aziraphale mentions wanting to see their pet, and they trade looks among themselves.

“It'll cost you quite a lot.” One of the men says. “By the hour.”

“By the hour? I assure you, money is no worry of mine.” Aziraphale pulls out a thick wad of bills (the proper currency for the local) and holds it up. “Let me _see_ it.”

“Alright.”

<~>

They take him to another location. Downstairs to a damp and cold basement. Aziraphale can _feel_ it. There's an unsettling edge to the air down here. It feels so _familiar._ It's Crowley's work indeed.

There's a giant sigil painted on the floor. And in the middle of it are several things that don't make a lot of sense. There's a mattress on the floor, a big metal circle in the ground, and a thick cage with coverings, leaving it in darkness. What sort of creature is this? It must be the size of a tiger, or possibly a bear.

“Don't worry.” One of them assures him with a laugh. “It's well trained by now.”

“No worries here.” He can protect himself from whatever Crowley has summoned.

“I'm going to take it out. I'll bolt it to the floor and then we can talk prices. See what you want.”

Aziraphale watches him unlock the cage. The man pulls out a thick chain and tugs. Aziraphale feels nervous. This is turning out to be a lot more informative than his previous trips.

Only the creature that comes out of the cage on it's hands and knees isn't a creature.

It's a person. They're grubby, with their hair shorn off and dressed in rags. The man locks the heavy chain to the floor and the person sits on their knees, staring submissively at the ground.

<~>

“This is a person.” Aziraphale's stomach turns at the sight.

> _They're talking the talking always comes first. Then the pain._ A familiar voice floats through the air. _He almost_ remembers _it. It bothers him. Why does he know this voice? <_

“It's a _demon.”_ One of them says to him.

“And what proof do you have of that claim? I'm not going to pay just because you stuck a random person in a cage. I'm not an idiot.”

_> He knows this voice. He knows it. In another life it had been important. He can't place it though<_

There's a whistle. “Look up Demon _.”_

 _>_ And so he does _. He doesn't look directly at their faces. That gets him in trouble. But he lifts his face, stares at their chests. <_

<~>

Aziraphale inhales sharply at the familiar yellow eyes. The features slowly resolve into Crowley's.

As well as the metal collar around his neck that the chain is attached to, Crowley has thick metal shackles on his wrists, the chains holding them together are glowing and Aziraphale can feel the blessings on them from where he stands. No wonder he hasn't been able to find Crowley when he scries.

His eyes are full snake. Aziraphale hasn't seen this much yellow since back in the garden. 

“Afraid it's mouth isn't much use anymore.” The man says flippantly. “Pity. had a fun tongue. But had to teach it to be quiet.”

Aziraphale has always told Crowley that his mouth was going to get him into _trouble_ one day!

“But it's still good to use otherwise.” The man steps towards him. “The chains will reach the bed. Like I said, this is by the hour. It's trained and it's powers are cut off. So how long do you want?”

Aziraphale tosses the wad of bills out to one of them. “As long as this buys me.” He is so angry. He has to get Crowley alone, has to get the humans to leave.

The man takes the bills and rifles through them. “A couple hours then. Cleanup after. There's a hose to your left. Spray the demon down when you're done. I'll lock it back up. Be as rough as you want. Have fun.”

The men leave while counting the cash and Aziraphale is so angry he's shaking. He stalks over to Crowley who flinches minutely when the door shuts.

Crowley has back to staring at the ground. Not breathing. Waiting.

“Crowley.” The demon gives no sign that he recognizes the name; that it's his. _Oh,_ is this where the demon has been all this time? In this cage? Being hurt? Forgetting things? And his last conversation with the angel had been a fight.

“Open your mouth please.” Aziraphale says, trying to reign in his anger.

Crowley obeys meekly. His tongue angry and red. The roof of his mouth, his cheeks and his tongue are all covered in blisters and some spots look black. All of it must be terribly painful, especially with all the precautions they've made to keep him cut off from his powers.

Crowley looks resigned. He goes for Aziraphale's trousers. “What?!" He exclaims and pulls back. "Crowley, no!”

 _>_ He stops. _Some of the people like to be in charge. He'll likely be punished for taking the initiative. Stupid. <_

Aziraphale watches his hands drop and the unsettling realization comes over him. _OH!_ He was so ignorant. The bed. Being told to use him. Sadomasochists. As rough as he wants. They hurt Crowley, they took over and over and his dear boy had been _so_ alone.

“We're not going to do any of that.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers and the paint on the floor disappears. The chains around his friends neck drop to the ground.

_> He feels the burning weight around of his neck fall off. It's been there for so long. This man is powerful. He didn't even use the key.<_

Aziraphale leans forward. “Can you look at me?”

Crowley looks at his shoulders.

“Not there, can you look at my eyes?” He says gently. “Do you know who I am?”

Crowley looks at the bright white with hollow eyes. > _It's familiar, but it hurts. < _He minutely shakes his head no and looks away _. >Something from the past. Something._<

“I'm an angel.” Aziraphale says to him.

“Angel.” Crowley manages to repeat, the word mangled by the burns in his mouth. Talking hurts so much. It's so familiar. Almost

“I've been looking for you.” Aziraphale continues.

“Me?” Crowley creases his brow. > _Why would anyone look for him. No one cares. <_

“Shh.” Aziraphale says as he steps closer. Crowley flinches very slightly. If Aziraphale hadn't been paying so much attention he wouldn't have noticed.

“You're here... to finish the job.” the demon says slowly. It's the only thing that makes sense. Angels don't search for demons for no reason. Crowley closes his eyes in despair and a little bit of relief. Talking has made some of the blisters in his mouth pop. His words are mangled and slurred, If this angel is going to hurt him, it's better to get it over with. “Do it.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale kneels down next him. “Your name is Crowley. My name is Aziraphale. And we used to be friends... I haven't heard from you in 85 years.” He puts on a stiff upper lip even though he wants to cry. Crowley had...

“I'm going to touch your shoulder. Okay? I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Just a change of scenery.” Aziraphale does put his hand down on Crowley's shoulder and feels the demon tense more under his hand. Crowley is scared of him.

<~>

They're in the backroom of his bookshop in Soho now and Aziraphale is kind of surprised it's still here, untouched. He has been in Heaven for _years_ , Crowley in that cage. But the bookshop is here; dust on it's shelves, but otherwise seemingly frozen in time. He lets the demon go and stands up.

“Would you like to sit down?” He asks Crowley, turning on the lights that somehow still work.

Crowley looks even more resigned. Aziraphale didn't know it was possible.

“Master wants ... me to sit?”

Aziraphale's head spins. Each word that Crowley says is garbled and distant, so unlike him, and the pain it's causing has to be unbearable.

“No Master.” He tells Crowley. “We're friends, remember, Crowley?” He isn't sure how well he is projecting but he tries to look calm and gentle. “I just want to look at those chains around your wrist.” He speaks soothingly. “Why don't you sit down here?” Aziraphale indicates one of his plush chairs. “Please? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to touch you, just look.”

Crowley eyes him distrustfully, it's the most emotion he's seen from the demon. Crowley does sit in the chair, perching on the edge of the cushion stiffly, and raises his arms out in front of him, looking like one of those cartoon zombies.

Aziraphale studies the chains. He doesn't want to use the wrong removal spell or the shackles could damage the demon. He nods and makes his way over to a bookshelf, plucking out a thin journal. He flips through it to find what he's looking for and comes back to Crowley.

“I need to touch them for this bit. You may feel some of my power, and it may sting for a couple seconds, but then it will feel better." Aziraphale says reassuringly.

“Always hurts.” Crowley slurs. His wrists dutifully have not moved.

Aziraphale's heart aches. He touches one of the bands and begins to read. The bands fall the floor after a moment of that and Crowley convulses as his powers flood back into him. The power won't heal everything. Not yet. He's too weak, But even a drop of occult power can overwhelm a person and the demon's black wings pop out under the flood of it.

<~>

And then it's over.

<~>

Crowley is breathing shakily from the floor where he's fallen. His brow glistens with sweat. He touches one of his wrists. The shackles have been burning at his flesh for as long as he can remember. The blistering scars on his wrists ache, but the bands are gone. His mouth still hurts. Even having a connection back to his powers. It still _aches._

Crowley manages to wrench open his eyes. What does the angel expect for freeing him?

<~>

Aziraphale banishes the shackles to the dark side of the moon in distaste. Then he takes stock of Crowley. “You need a shower, a proper shower, with lots of warm water and soap.” He tries to coax Crowley off the floor. “Wouldn't you like to be clean? Wear clean clothes?” After a moment he adds, “The bathroom door locks.”

“Locks?” Crowley looks at his feet. “You stronger... than lock”.

“I'll stay down here. I promise." He raises his palms. "No one is going to hurt you.”

Crowley doesn't trust him. But he does want to be clean. And he doesn't know what will happen here if he disobeys.

He takes the shower.

<~>

Aziraphale stands in his bookshop trying not to cry. Crowley is so gaunt. All his pretty red hair has been cut down to the scalp. His wings are positively ragged. There are so many cuts and scars that he can see. He's sure there are so many more he can't see under the scraps of his clothes.

<~>

He had shown Crowley to the shower, how to work it, left him toiletries and a stack of towels. Then he miracled a comfortable black nightshirt shirt, some undergarments, and a dressing gown. If Crowley spent the last eight decades in that horrible cage, these will be what he's most familiar with. Hopefully it will comfort him some.

<~>

Crowley's wings are still damp when he comes out of the shower. They're not waterproof right now, he probably hasn't gotten to preen or groom them in the last century. He's clearly attempted to dry himself as best as possible, and has a towel wrapped around his waist. His ribs are prominent and his back has many scars from being whipped and Aziraphale is ashamed to admit that he has no idea if his friend had those scars before he was captured or if they came from his captivity.

“What in the world are your wings still doing out?” Aziraphale manages to say from his spot in a recliner in the backroom.

“Cleaned them.” Crowley shakes his head “Don't know... how to … put away.” Crowley braces like he expects to be punished. “Please ... teach me, _sir.”_

Aziraphale _feels_ uncomfortable. Crowley is never polite unless he's mocking. And this doesn't feel like mocking. “Um, concentrate. Clench the muscles in your back and will them to hide away.”

It takes Crowley a few tries to get it right. The towel shifts dangerously.

“You should leave them out.” Aziraphale folds his reading glasses and sets the book aside. “Let them dry properly.”

Crowley keeps them put away, stepping closer and tugging at the towel so it falls to the ground.

Aziraphale only has a second to comprehend the situation he's found himself in.

“Was good,” Crowley drops to his knees. “Showered... got ready... not dirty ... Won't make a mess ... on your bed.” He slinks forward till he reaches Aziraphale's chair. Crowley is practically crawling into his lap.

“Crowley, what are you talking about?” Aziraphale furrows his brow. And then tries to get get Crowley to stop nosing at the front of his pants.

“Want me ... all to yourself?” He asks “Taking me away... Feather in your cap... Owing a demon...a nice toy.” Crowley sounds bitter and closes his eyes.

> _No one will ever care, you don't matter. You're just a toy we drag out to play with. <_

“Crowley!" He snaps. "Don't talk about yourself like that!”

Crowley stills, suddenly very tense. “M' sorry... mouth was running ... I'll behave.”

Aziraphale doesn't even think the demon is breathing anymore, he's so still, tears suddenly leaking down his face. He slides down the chair and sits down on the floor next to Crowley. “I just don't want to hear my friend talk about himself like he's nothing. I'm not going to 'use' you if that's a concern of yours. I'm not going to touch you like that. Not even when you throw yourself at me, I _promise_ that's not what I'm trying to do.”

Aziraphale curls his hands up and puts them on his own knees. “I'm sorry I didn't realize you were gone, I should have tracked you down sooner. I only found out you were missing a couple months ago, and I've been looking for you ever since.”

They sit in silence for a while. “If we … were friends.” Crowley studies him. “Why,” he asks “why'd it ... take you ... so long … to look?”

Aziraphale's expression shifts to guilty. “We had a row. I thought you were just avoiding me because you were mad.” He sighs. “I'll never forgive myself for not seeking you out sooner. I was scared you didn't want to see me, so I kept coming up with more elaborate ways to try and draw you out. Got myself disincorporated, err," he pauses as he recognizes confusion cloud Crowley's face. "My human body got killed. It took me a while to get back to Earth from Heaven.”

“You die ... and go to Heaven? Repeat?” He pauses. “Me?”

“Yes,” He says slowly, trying to make sense of that. Oh, communicating is so hard. “Well, we both try not to get disincorporated. There's a lot of paperwork in it.” He bites his lip. “But angels who get disincorporated end up back in Heaven. Demons...”

Crowley nods grimly. “Demons go … to Hell.” He says it with such an odd voice, like he's repeating something that's been drilled into his head.

Aziraphale miracles them both a cup of herbal tea. He can't deal with this. Crowley's tea has loads of honey mixed in it. “I know it's a little sweet, but it should help your mouth feel better.”

They sit there on the floor for a while. Crowley drinks the tea mechanically. Aziraphale doesn't know what to say, how to react.

Crowley breaks the silence. "Can …. get dressed?”

Aziraphale waves and miraculously the garments that were in the bathroom are now on Crowley's body. “You don't have to ask me for permission to do things like that. You can get dressed as you please.”

“Year?”

“It's 1945.” Aziraphale sits up. “You really don't remember me, not at _all?”_

“I thought … I recognized … your voice.” It's like a word that's on the tip of his tongue. But everything is messy in his head. He looks over in Aziraphale's direction, still not looking at the angel's face.

“Ah.” Aziraphale swallows tightly.

Crowley grimaces. He's put his pain off for as long as he could, but now it's overwhelming him. “Where,” he rasps. “Where I sleep?”

“Oh! You must be exhausted.” Aziraphale stands up. “There's a bed upstairs. I'll show you to it. Then I'll come back down here. You'll be safe, I promise.” He assures. “I'll make sure no one bothers you.”

Crowley trails behind him warily, but true to his word, the angel goes back downstairs after showing Crowley to the bedroom in the flat.

You'll be safe in here, I promise.” Aziraphale assures him. “I'll make sure no one bothers you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for Reading~ I live to hear your feedback! :)
> 
> Tags: Aziraphale gets discorporated, slavery, power binding, sadists, implied rape, implied sexual abuse, scars, timeframe: 1940's


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't trust the angel.  
> Aziraphale tries to soothe his worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, nothing too crazy in this chapter. Vague mentions of previous violence  
> Chapter tags in the bottom note

Crowley sits curled up on top of the covers on the bed, his black wings are limply wrapped around him and he's watching the door. He hasn't slept a wink. Nor has the angel bothered him. He hasn't once climbed up the stairs. Crowley has just been alone... Watching the door... Waiting.

<~>

Two weeks crawl by in this manner. At least, he thinks it's two weeks. He tries to keep track by the light on the wall that filters through the curtains. His memories haunt him though, even though he's awake. It's like a puzzle with no context; he has no idea what he's trying to build. All they do is make him lose track of the time.

He tries to remember Aziraphale. He doesn't. Mostly he just remembers a never ending stream of pain and punishment. It's hard to see past that.

The angel doesn't seem like the sort who would be pulling a cruel trick, but he very well could be, Crowley doesn't know him. He might be building his hopes up just to break him down. That's happened before. It's better to expect to be hurt than to be surprised by it. His gut deep down tells him to trust, but right now, he's not sure that's smart.

<~>

Nothing comes up the stairs for him; no one enters his room. He's being tortured by the silence.

Finally Crowley he can't stand it anymore and climbs out of bed to seek the angel out.

He finds the angel downstairs in the backroom. Not that he has to do much searching. When he closes his eyes he can feel the angelic presence permeating the shop.

<~>

“Tea not drugged.” The words come out of his throat slightly easier, it's not quite as painful to talk. It still hurts him quite a lot, but it's getting a tiny bit better.

<~>

Aziraphale blinks and looks up. Crowley looks _small_ tugging on the sleeve of his nightshirt and is staring firmly at the ground. Aziraphale has to take a moment to figure out just what exactly he is talking about.

He finally remembers giving Crowley a cup of tea before sending him off to sleep. “No drugged tea here.” He says firmly.

“Didn't ...Come up once.” Crowley's brows furrow as he tries to work out what's happening.

“I told you I would stay down here. I did.” Aziraphale puts his book down and sets about making them both another cup of herbal tea with honey. The human way of doing this has always soothed him. He likes the ritual of it. He lets the tea seep, strains the leaves out and pours them both a cup then mixes sugar and honey in the proper cup.

When he carries the cups over he sees Crowley still standing awkwardly by the door to the backroom. The demon doesn't look like he's slept much the past couple of weeks. Has the he been upstairs this entire time waiting for Aziraphale to attack him?

Aziraphale sets the two steaming mugs on the coffee table. Crowley shifts in place.

“Wouldn't you like to sit?” Aziraphale asks after a moment.

“Yes.” Crowley pauses. “Didn't tell me … where allowed sit.”

Aziraphale steps back. “Crowley, you can sit wherever you want. You don't have to ask me for permission here in the shop.” He takes his own chair. “You're allowed to do things of your own free will now.”

“Don't do things … without asking … Bad slave.”

Aziraphale winces at the term. “No slavery, you're _not_ my prisoner Crowley.” He says firmly. “You're my friend.”

Crowley doesn't look like he believes him. It's a small look. His face carefully remains mostly neutral, but in the thousands of years the two have known each other, and the dark glasses Crowley is fond of, Aziraphale has learned to read each micro-expression on Crowley's face.

And now Crowley hardly ever raises his eyes, always staring at the ground. Aziraphale feels _so_ guilty. Crowley looks starved, and his head looks too big for his body. It all makes him so very uncomfortable.

<~>

“If you tell me what happened to your mouth, I can try and fix it.” Aziraphale sits forward and picks up his teacup at last.

Crowley shakes his head no. He wants to see how the angel reacts to being denied. And he doesn't want to tell the angel just how easy it was to hurt him in the first place. He stares at the cup on the table but makes no move to grab it.

“Just honey and camomile tea with a slice of lemon. A couple of glasses of that a day and hopefully it'll soothe away some of the pain in your mouth and make your throat less rough. I think that it's supposed to help.”

“You want ... me drink?”

“I don't want anything.” Aziraphale assures him. “I'll can make tea, but it's up to you if you drink it or not. I won't get upset with you if you don't ... You don't remember me.” Aziraphale says slowly. It stings him a bit to say. “You don't have any reason to trust me.” He slides the tea cup over to Crowley.

“Don't remember,” Crowley eyes the cup cautiously, “a _lot._ ”

“Hopefully you'll start remembering things, now that you're not bound up anymore.” Aziraphale bites his lip. “I assume. I mean, I don't know what happened to make you forget things in the first place.”

Aziraphale shakes his head, “Regardless, rest will make your body heal faster. And you always did like sleep.” He shakes his shoulders nervously. “Earlier I thought I'd try to heal you, your mouth is very painful looking, but I wasn't sure how our powers would react to each other.”

Aziraphale frets. “I don't want to hurt you worse.” He sets his tea cup down in dismay and looks at the demon. “I checked out your old flat Crowley and someone else is living there!”

Crowley gives no notice that he's heard, nor has he touched his own tea. He hasn't moved at all. He looks like he's made of stone. He looks like he's tense and waiting for an attack

“You'd be able to taste it if it was drugged.” Aziraphale says to him finally, ceasing his nervous rambling.

Crowley fiddles with the fragile handle of the teacup, his wings drawn tightly around himself. “Can't taste ... Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale kicks himself mentally. He produces a third cup and pours a bit of Crowley’s tea into it. He sets the full teacup back in front of Crowley and takes the third teacup, knocking it back like a shot of whiskey. It burns his mouth a little, but those kinds of things don't bother him for long. “I'll let you make your own tea next time. Just so you can be sure what's in it. How about that?”

Crowley at least sips from his own cup then puts it down. “Hot.”

Aziraphale wills it to cool down just a little, but it's still hot enough.

Crowley slowly drinks the tea.

Finally he finishes. Crowley is still sitting in the chair, as ramrod straight as ever, not meeting his gaze.

<~>

Aziraphale makes his way over to the gramophone, sets down a piano piece to try and lighten the mood. Maybe it will relax the demon. Or perhaps it will calm himself down.

“As I said before, you're not my prisoner." Aziraphale speaks. "Though I do think some ground rules would be smart for both of us.”

Crowley looks over at the floor by Aziraphale. Rules are something he's more familiar with. He likes having lots of rules. They let him know what he's allowed to do and where the boundaries are. Rules mean he gets hurt less. Of course, sometimes they make rules just to hurt him.

“I don't mind you having your wings out, when it's just the two of us. Humans don't have wings though, so if you're someplace where humans might see you, you should probably keep them hidden. Your eyes too. You used to wear dark glasses a lot. I'll look around the next time I go out and find something you might like.”

Aziraphale claps his hands. “Now then, Heaven hasn't visited me in quite some time, but you can imagine they'd not be happy to see a demon here. So if they do come calling, you should stay upstairs.”

“Not supposed … be here?”

“Heaven wouldn't exactly _approve_ of you," Aziraphale bounces on his heels, "though I'm not sure Hell would be thrilled that you befriended an _angel._ We've always toed the line, I suppose. But it works for us." He pauses, trying to get back on track. "Anyways, yes, if they come, you should stay upstairs.”

Aziraphale comes back to his chair. “Speaking of upstairs, that room up there is all yours. If you want to be alone, you just need to shut the door.”

“Not fair... take your room.” Crowley says.

“Oh Crowley," He sits back down. "You're the only reason I have a bedroom in the first place. You used to take naps up there sometimes, and other times you'd lay out on the sofa. I'm more than content in the sitting room reading.” He gives Crowley a friendly smile. “But you always did like a bed, so I got one for you."

“Why I sleep?” Crowley cocks his head. “You don't?”

“Well, Because you're healing. Healing takes a lot of energy my dear,” He waves his hand. “And in the past, sleeping was an _indulgence_ of yours.” He stirs his tea idly. “Angels and Demons don't need sleep most of the time. Nor do we need food or drink, though I'm quite fond of both, as you can see.”

Crowley turns that thought over. “More rules?”

Aziraphale claps his hands. “That's all I can think of for now.”

He sips cautiously from his cup.

Crowley thinks this over. There's too many things left unclear. But it means there will be more rules in the future. It means there's plenty of room for him to mess things up. To be punished. He doesn't know what the angel will do to him when he's displeased. But for now, it seems that Aziraphale is going to let him recover.

He finishes up his tea eventually and sets the cup back on the table.

<~>

“How would you like to sleep for real now?" Aziraphale suggests when it becomes clear that the demon isn't going to move without someone to direct him.

Crowley nods his head just a fraction.

“Well then, I'll clean this up. You can stay down here for as long as you like, or you can go upstairs. I'll keep an eye out down here. You can get some rest.”

<~>

Crowley slips away upstairs after a while. Aziraphale barely notices him go. Crowley moves so quietly. He's so unlike his usual self, the man who always got all the attention in the room. Crowley has always been loud, rambunctious, mischievous, and playful. It pains him to see the demon like this. So quiet, scared and subservient. Hell hadn't managed to break him, but a group of humans took it even further than anyone could ever imagine.

<~>

This time Crowley actually sleeps.

Aziraphale can hear it from downstairs when he concentrates, the deep even breaths that Crowley has subconsciously picked up after thousands of years on Earth.

He sleeps for three whole months. Some of it peaceful, some of it not, but he doesn't do more than toss and whimper. Aziraphale frets about Crowley; he wants to help him sleep, but he promised to stay downstairs, so he does.

However, Aziraphale uses this time to take care of the situation in Portugal; to put an end to that group and help locate and rescue any of other the victims. He doesn't inform Heaven of his work. He doesn't want a commendation for this nasty business.

Thankfully Crowley sleeps through all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: hypervigilance, distrust, nervous conversations over tea, mentions of abuse,  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley start a new routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief mentions of torture in this chapter  
> tags and warnings at the bottom

_He's so cold. The metal floor of the cage burns. The iron around his hands and neck is extra painful. There's no warmth in the room. The demon shivers. The cold months are always the worst. Everything feels so very_ **extra.** _It's so hard to think. Let alone move. He's so cold and all he has is one torn up blanket. Until they take that away. They always find some reason to punish him more._

_But there's also an edge that they keep him balanced on. If he gets too cold, his body stops responding, he freezes, stuck in his shell until they warm him back up. In the cold months, he is almost grateful when they use him. 'no one wants to fuck an ice cube.' So they say. It's those times that they let him be warm._

<~>

Crowley wakes up chilly. He is _slow_ on days like today. His mind takes a long time to start up. His first thought is that his blanket is too thin, which is strange, since it was warm when he fell asleep. He blinks slowly and stares out the window in the room, it's bright and white.

Oh, drat it. He hadn’t meant to sleep this long. He'd just been so tired.

He sighs. The angel must be very cross with him. And it's so bright. He winces a little and gets up.

<~>

When Crowley steps into the backroom his wings are drooping and trailing behind him. They look dreadful in the light. Aziraphale's fingers itch to groom them properly. His red hair is starting to grow back again. It's a familiar shock of ginger locks, maybe an inch long. He looks... more himself now. Sleep has rejuvenated him some, and his powers have slowly started to fill in his weight. His pupils are narrow little slits seated in a sea of gold still; entirely inhuman.

“Sorry.” Is the first thing Crowley says when he spots Aziraphale, eyes falling to the ground. He's still trying to feel out what's expected of him here. The angel had hated when he was on his knees, so he ignores every instinct stays standing.

“Heavens, whatever for?”

“Snowing.” Crowley shifts from one foot to the other. “Sleep for too long.”

“Nonsense. You needed the rest.” Aziraphale closes his book, flicking his hand to set the kettle boiling. “If you'd like to get comfy and sit, I'll make tea.”

Aziraphale busies himself putting the tea tray together. 

<~>

Aziraphale has been reading these past few months while Crowley was asleep. He wants to help his friend; to be more prepared. He snaps and a container of salt, an unopened box of chamomile tea, a new jar of honey, and a tube of Orajel join the hot kettle and unopened pack of biscuits on the tray. He carries everything over to the coffee table.

He slides the new container of tea over towards Crowley. Then he holds the sea salt up. “We'll use this stuff to make a mouthwash to use a few times a day. It helps to treat those sores in your mouth.” He puts it down. “And I know you're wary about drugs, so you may not want to use this, and that's fine,” he picks up the small tube. “But this the of ointment will hopefully numb some of the pain in your mouth.”

Aziraphale takes the teakettle and brings it over to the table, placing it on a trivet. “I'm going to make myself some tea now. You can make some too, if you _want._ I don't have any lemons this time, I read that citrus fruit will irritate those ulcers of yours. Chamomile is supposed to help though.” Aziraphale opens up the pack of sugar wafers and took a few for himself before placing them back on the table and offering them to Crowley. “Would you like a wafer? He had tried to remember what the demon had said about taste, so he went for texture today. These were probably the easiest to chew and eat after all, but they also were less boring than gumming on a graham cracker.

Crowley is looking at the table like he's still expecting to be punished for allowing himself to sleep for so long. Aziraphale keeps up the stream of chatter hoping to put him at ease and is thrilled to bits when Crowley finally picks up his tea cup to look at before it back down and picks up one of the sugar wafers instead to study it.

“My bosses are leaving me alone for now. I cleaned up a lot of icky things when I was looking for you and doing that buys us some wiggle room.”

He looks over and then realizes Crowley is shivering a bit, though he's trying to hide it. Aziraphale snaps again and several things happen, a fire springs to life in the fireplace, a bundle of clothes fall on the table, and a big thick blanket drapes itself against the demon.

Crowley tenses, looking wide eyed down at the blanket.

“I forgot how drafty it gets in here in the winter.” Aziraphale apologizes. “And you're just wearing a nightshirt, you must be frozen solid.”

 _No_. the demon thinks, he knows what it's like to be frozen solid. He's nowhere near that point yet.

Aziraphale indicates the pile of clothes. “I know you're used to keep up with the human fashions, but I'm afraid I'm not quite certain is en vogue at the moment. I think suits and trousers are still fine. However, those are some warmer things. There's some nice wool socks and a jumper you can put on.”

Aziraphale sips at his tea. “If you don't like something, of course, you can change it, but,” He hesitates. “It will probably be warmer if you get dressed.”

It is already getting warmer in the room. He doesn't understand why the angel is doing so much for him. He can't think well. There has to be a price for him to pay. A hidden trap. “.... Why?” Crowley wavers.

“You're cold. I can help.” Aziraphale shrugs. “Simple enough.”

Crowley still stares at the clothes like he's expecting them to bite him. “What cost?”

Aziraphale sets the teacup down carefully on it's saucer. “No cost at all.”

Crowley looks like he doesn't believe him, but eventually plucks the thick, cream colored, knitted socks out of the pile and puts them on his black soled feet before settling back under the blanket. He looks at his empty cup and the box of teabags.

“Oh! And these. I almost forgot.” Aziraphale makes a pair of the dark glasses like Crowley has worn over the ages. He really should be paying more attention to blending in. He really has no clue what people are wearing these days. These will at least work for now. “You can pick out some new ones later, but for now...” Aziraphale puts the shades on the table.

<~>

 _Oh_ that's so much better. The brightness from the room tones down, it feels less like everything is screaming at him. He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it, scared this will be used against him. “T...hank you.” He manages. Aziraphale has gifted him quite a lot today.

Aziraphale smiles warmly back at him. He must have guessed right. Aziraphale's smiles are so soft. His eyes seem like they sparkle. Something in his chest twinges a little at the sight.

“How?” He asks as he picks up the box of tea instead of examining that feeling.

“It's very easy. Just open up one of the packs of tea bags, pour hot water over it till it gets to about here.” He points out a level on his cup, “And then you leave it for a couple minutes. Each type of tea is different. I mostly drink black tea and herbal tea blends.” He explains. “Now remember not to squeeze the teabag, that's how you get dust in your cup.”

Aziraphale makes a disgusted face at the thought. “Then stir in the honey or sugar when it's all finished. - Oh, there's fresh honey on the table-” He points. “It will be good for your throat. And watch out, the water in the kettle is very hot. How about you let me do it for you once so you can see how to make it next time?”

Crowley finally nods. “Please mas - ssir.” He stutters as he tries to correct himself.

Aziraphale plops the tea bag into the cup and pours the water over it. “Now we have to let it steep.” He sits back in his chair.“You can call me Aziraphale, you know. I won't get upset.” He wants to put an end to the whole 'Master or Sir' business. It's making him incredibly uncomfortable. “You used to call me angel.”

Crowley falls silent watching his tea cup intensely. “Why?” He asks after a moment.

“Oh, it was just a nickname.”

Crowley shakes his head. “Why angel … friends ... Demon?

“Because you're special.” He finishes making Crowley's tea, putting in plenty of honey. He slides the cup and saucer towards him and then sits back down in his own chair. “You reached out to me in the past. Kept reaching out to me. You were a good friend, very dear.” He sighs. “I let you slip through the cracks of my fingers, and now I'm trying to fix my mistake.” He smiles sadly to himself. “Usually it's you, fixing up my problems. You were always _really_ good at that Crowley.”

He looks at the surface of his tea, seeing the watery reflection. "Cr-owley." He tests it out "Crow-Lee." the name doesn't feel like his. The roof of his mouth kind of burns when he says it. “Cow-le.” That's better. The roof of his mouth is so tender.

He hates drinking the tea, but he forces himself to drink it anyways, because he knows what can happen when he doesn't do what is expected. The angel can make as many denials as he wants, but at the end, there's always a price and it hurts. He knows that.

"What did they call you?” Aziraphale pulls him from his thoughts. “Those men?”

"Demon." He's been nothing but Demon for a very long time.

"Well that's hardly very creative of that lot.” Aziraphale picks up his cup and takes a sip, “You are a demon, but you are so much more than that."

"Am... I?"

"Yes," He says softly. "You are."

Crowley stares back down at the cup. He likes it, he decides. Not the tea, but having a name that separates him from them. Even if it does hurt when he says it.

His name is Crowley.

<~>

It's later that day. Crowley is standing and looking out the window in the backroom. He likes it here. He can keep track of Aziraphale as well as see outside. It's afternoon, judging by the sun and the angel is sitting in one of the chairs reading. The tea Crowley drank does seem to be helping to warm his mind up, and he feels slightly more comfortable with his sunglasses on and the blanket wrapped around him. The cold bites into him and he feels exposed in his nightshirt.

He pads back across the room and silently looks at the clothes and debates with himself. The trousers are a dark grey and a little large on him, but the bracers hold them up once he figures out how to work them. His fingers have some muscle memory, it seems. The white button up shirt is covered by the knitted jumper. It matches his socks. He has taken the thick blanket off of the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape. He likes the weight of it. He's still nervous that Aziraphale will take the blanket away once he gets used to having it. At least he'll enjoy the warmth while he can.

He goes back to the window now that he's dressed. He grimaces as he touches the frosted windowpane. “Cold.”

“I can make us some coats and mittens if you want to go outside.” Aziraphale offers from across the room

Crowley shakes his head. “COLD.” He repeats again. It's cozy here with all the books and the clutter.

Aziraphale chuckles. “Still not one for winter.” He stands up “Well it's a nice day to curl up under the covers with a book. I _do_ have plenty of those.” He indicates the shelves. “Some of these you have to be careful about touching, they're not in the best physical state, But those shelves over there,” He gestures at three of the bookcases. “Those are all in fine repair. You can choose any of those you like.”

Crowley walks over to a shelf gently pulls out one of the books. He opens it to a random page. The letters swim off the page. When he focuses hard, he can kind of make larger things out, but the smaller letters stay unreadable. He decides to try a test, so see how far he's allowed to take things.

“You read.” He says.

“Yes, I'm quite fond of it.” Aziraphale holds up his book as to illustrate the point.

“No.” Crowley turns away from the shelf and looks at Aziraphale's chest. “You read.”

“What will you do?” His brow quirks.

Crowley looks slightly frustrated. “You. Read.”

Aziraphale knows there's something that he's not getting. “You want me to read something?”

Crowley nods.

“What do you want me to read?”

Crowley points at the bookshelf.

“You read me.”

“Oh!” He stands up. “Yes, of course. Anything in particular?”

Crowley just shrugs. He doesn't remember any books.

Aziraphale decides to play it safe and stick to something he knows Crowley will like. “The Merry Wives of Windsor.” He picks the book up and makes his way back to his chair. Once Aziraphale's seated and his reading glasses are on, Crowley finally moves and curls up in 'his' chair.

Crowley listens to him for a long time. He doesn't understand all of it, but the angel's rhythmic voice soothes him to sleep.

While Crowley is asleep in the chair, Aziraphale sets about doing several things. He has done a lot of miracles lately, and while his miracle reports are not very descriptive, he's limited to a certain amount of 'frivilous' and 'serious' miracles each month. His frivolous miracle count is getting pretty close to it's limit this term.

But he goes ahead and turns Crowley's chair into a large push recliner that is easier to sleep on. He also goes upstairs to take out the extra blankets for the bed upstairs. He folds the nightshirt and places it next to the dressing gown on the edge of the bed.

There's a wooden wardrobe in here, that had been used mainly been just for looks. He opens one of the doors and places the clothes in there. He leaves the door open so Crowley knows he's allowed to use it. Aziraphale has several old jumpers in here that Crowley can wear as well.

<~>

Weeks go by like this. A new pattern starts. Aziraphale makes tea for them. He reads to Crowley for hours. He makes sure Crowley eats plenty and sleeps too.

Crowley slowly relaxes around him and body slowly heals. His throat does not though, which that leaves Aziraphale puzzled.

The angel has ventured out of the shops a few times, when Crowley's sleep is peaceful and deep. Never for very long. Shopping is very _human_ and also helpful to fill in the gaps of theirs when his miracle count get too high. He would take Crowley around on these little jaunts, but his friend is barely comfortable around the bookshop, he'd absolutely panic with the crowds.

He buys a variety of sunglasses, some bigger, some smaller. There's also a trend of 'wrap-arounds' that seem like they'd hide those yellow eyes well, so Aziraphale gets several of them. He also stops by clothing stores to try to update Crowley's wardrobe with the fashionable pieces he knows the demon prefers.

<~>

Comfortable is not how anyone would describe this decade. Fabric is tight. Automobiles have sharp corners and edges. The world's just starting to recover from the latest war and it shows. There's an air of revelry and celebration but underneath it people are weary. Crowley's seems to be getting somewhat less wary in the bookshop at least.

He'd picked out one of the blocky dark glasses to wear when they were offered to him. Aziraphale considers that a success. He saw the second of longing Crowley had given to one of the other pairs with round lenses and black metal sides, so Aziraphale kept that one as well while getting rid of the rest. He buys Crowley plenty of comfortable clothes to help fill out the wardrobe so he doesn't have to wear the same things every day.

Crowley still tenses up if he Aziraphale moves to fast, or sets something down too hard. He tends to wait for directions, rather than do things on his own. Every day he wakes up and gets dressed (Aziraphale had learned the best way to get Crowley to wear his new clothes in the morning was to go with him at night and 'help' him choose an outfit to wear. Mostly he just suggested something along the lines of 'it's supposed to be extra cold tomorrow, perhaps you should pick one of your thicker shirts?”) Then he seeks Aziraphale out. He drinks the tea, and follows Aziraphale's schedule for the mouthwash. He eats and sleeps. That's all he seems to do, follow directions.

<~>

Crowley is very good at sitting still. He never does much to entertain himself. If Aziraphale isn't paying attention, they'll sit there in silence for hours. The angel has been trying to work his way through the shop, trying to clear things up and get the shop ready to re-open. Sometimes he'll get lost in something he's come across that he forgot about and hours later Crowley will still be sitting in the same spot in the backroom. Hands curled up neatly in his lap, back straight and eyes on the floor. He's so quiet about it that sometimes Aziraphale forgets he's there.

The angel does this three times and gets angry with himself each time. _How could he?_ Crowley gets scared though when he's angry, even if the anger isn't directed at him. He's still petrified. This makes him feel worse; Aziraphale feels so guilty for everything. He wants to beg Crowley for forgiveness. He doesn't know how to fix this, but he's trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!  
> tags:  
> flashbacks, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, Crowley is cold blooded, hypervigilance,


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are shown off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, I didn't think my double vision was going to let me edit anything today, but it lightened up for a while. 
> 
> No trigger warnings for this chapter. it's pretty light! Tags at the bottom

Crowley is kneeling at the back window again. Aziraphale isn't sure why he likes to stay by the window any time he's downstairs. The angel would prefer that he stay further away from any prying eyes, but perhaps _safety_ is the issue Crowley is worried about. Maybe he wants to see anyone who comes close. Or maybe he wants the freedom that's outside the window that he's still to scared to feel for himself.

Aziraphale sets his book one the table beside his chair. “There's not much to see out there right now, it'd be much comfier if you sat in the chair. Warmer too.”

Crowley turns around and sits on the floor under the window so that his back is pressed against the wall. He looks towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale looks back at him, wondering just what is happening. Crowley never meets his eyes, but over these past weeks, he sometimes steals glances of Aziraphale's face.

Crowley holds the blanket up. His wings are put away for once and the blanket is wrapped tight around his shoulders. “Warm.”

Aziraphale stands and walks over by him. “What's out there to see anyways? There's nothing but an alley back here.”

Crowley shakes his head. “Look.” He beckons Aziraphale closer. The angel sinks to his knees on the ground near Crowley. He looks out the window, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, just the wall from the building next to him. Aziraphale makes an inquisitive noise, he's not sure what he's supposed to pick out.

“See,” Crowley says again as then he points excitedly. “Blue!”

Aziraphale's heart clenches up. “Oh, that little sliver won't do.” He looks at the the meager slice of sky that can be seen from the backroom. “Your turn to look dear, come this way, if you please.” Aziraphale makes his way out of the room and heads down the hall.

Crowley tracks after him into the main area of the shop. They do spend a lot of time downstairs, but Crowley has yet to get to see main room. Instead they've mostly gone through the smaller rooms or Aziraphale will take piles of books to the backroom to read since it's where Crowley is most comfortable.

Cleaning this area, it's been on Aziraphale's list, but working his way through his other books and cleaning up the inventory of them had seemed more important at the time. Now though, Aziraphale is kicking himself for not ordering his tasks different. For not _seeing_ this. Crowley has been sitting by that window for _weeks._ This whole time, looking at a small bit of sky.

Up here, the shopfront is still boarded up, but it's not the front windows he cares about right now. Aziraphale had fortified all the materials that went into building his shop, making them stronger and sturdier than any human buildings materials. He had put in a lot of work to fix his bookshop _just_ _so._ He had spent months pouring over blueprints, making sure every column was placed perfectly, same with each wall and shelf. He had to be sure to set the ambiance _right._ He also had to make sure his precious books were well taken care.

This particular bit had always one of his indulgences in the past, something he'd been quite happy to have built. “Okay, stand right here please.” Aziraphale instructs, waiting for Crowley to step closer, uncertainly. Then he snaps his fingers.“Now look up.” He points upwards and the protective cover moves away from the huge round window of the sky light.

Crowley looks up and gasps. There's so much blue. He's never _seen_ so much blue. There are fluffy white clouds swimming in an ocean of it. It's so overwhelming that he has to sit down. He stumbles to his knees on the floor, tears springing up and he can't take his eyes off of the sight of all this sky. His hand reaches up, like he can feel one of the clouds. There's so much light.

"Quite nice, you should see it at night.” Aziraphale says idly, “Of course London has light pollution to deal with- So the stars aren't nearly as nice as the could be.”

<~>

Crowley sprawls on his back on the floor, still wrapped up in the fluffy blanket. It's not often that he does things without direction, so the sight makes Aziraphale feel pleased. There's no fireplace here, so he uses a miracle to warm up the shop. If they're going to be spending much time out here, he should at least make it pleasant for them. He walks over to the couch and picks up a spare cushion.

“For your head.” He says when he offers it to Crowley.

“Thank you.” Crowley takes his eyes off the sky and accepts the pillow, flashing a brilliant smile at Aziraphale.

<~>

Aziraphale switches out the music playing in the background on the gramophone and settles down on the desk with a book. He turns his chair so he can try to keep an eye on Crowley while he reads to him.  
<~>

Crowley has a question. Aziraphale can tell after knowing him for so long. He can see the question bubbling under Crowley's skin, perhaps before the demon even knows he is thinking it.

Crowley rolls over, taking his eyes off the skylight for the first time in hours. “You made?" He points up.

"Well, I didn't make the sky, but I did make that skylight.” He folds his hands on the desk. “Or rather, the humans made it, and I made it better. It took me a while to get the spells right so wouldn't break or get covered by snow. The downside is that rain does not touch it either." He looks wistful. “Oh, the sound of rain on glass is lovely.”

"I make things?" Crowley points to his own chest when Aziraphale is finished talking.

"Indeed you do." Aziraphale confirms. “You make a lot of things, we both do.”

"How?" Crowley sits up and cocks his head. It's so very _him_ , Aziraphale has to take a moment to catch his breath.

Aziraphale gives the question some thought. "It's like your wings.” He says at last. “Think about something, imagine reality bending the way you want it to, and then put some effort into it and make it so.” He raises his eyebrows. “You don't actually have to snap, but you pull your power from down below, mine comes from above. Sometimes you used to gesture at something and make it change. You have to incorporate the power. Snapping tends to be an easy way to do it.”

Crowley pulls his wings out, bites his lip in and puts them back away. Then he thinks about it. He closes his eyes; scrunching his face as he tries to remember how to do this.

Nothing happens. Crowley opens one of his eyes and frowns harder. He closes his eyes and tries again.

Again, nothing. Crowley grinds his teeth. He's going to get this.

<~>

Aziraphale steps over to him after watching him try for about 20 minutes. He feels guilty for letting it go on so long before interrupting but Crowley is so focused. He has tried many different approaches, trying to force something happen.

“Don't try so hard, dear boy.” Aziraphale says as he crosses the room, “It's innate. You just do it. A little bit of will and a touch of power.” He sits on the floor across from Crowley. “Can I touch you? Just your hands.” He promises. “I want to help you.”

Crowley looks nervous, but holds his hands out. Aziraphale rests his hands under Crowley's, gently touching them and turning them over so they both have their palms towards the ceiling, cupping each other.

“Close your eyes. Breathe in and out. Slowly." He advises. “The power around you, it is like little spiderwebs. Delicate, gentle; gossamer strands. Really feel them. Make a good mental image in your mind. You are going to be manipulating those webs. If you use brute force, you're going to tear them. You have to gently weave them. Shape them.”

Crowley breathes in and out.

“Can you feel them? The lines of power?”

“Think... so.” Crowley's face is smooth, calm.

“That's good. Call them to you.”Aziraphale says. “Picture something in your head... Do you have a thought?”

“Yes.” Crowley breathes,

“Then think it, and call your powers.” He slowly raises Crowley's hands upwards.

Crowley's eyes open when he feels something in his hand. It worked. “ggh!” He exclaims to Aziraphale with a grin. “Did it!”

“You did.” Aziraphale smiles back. “What did you do?”

Crowley lowers his hands and looks at it.

It's a plant, Aziraphale realizes. Specifically a type of African violet. It's one he hasn't seen in a very long time. He can see that all of it's blooms are closed and the glaze of it's ceramic pot has a gradient of bright blues like the sky. The plush green leaves are hanging loosely over the white edges of the pot. Crowley wraps his hands around the pot better and brings it up to his eyes to study it.

“It's beautiful.” Aziraphale says to him.

“I made.” Crowley feels exhausted but happy. He gazes at the smallish pot in wonder. “Remember... Dream.... I think... Was a garden.”

“Yes!” Aziraphale beams at him. “There was a garden. Eden, Where we met!”

Crowley sets the pot down gently on the floor with what little strength he has left.

“Garden... sky... colour,” Crowley wraps himself around the colorful potter in the sunlight and closes his eyes. “Angel.”

Aziraphale wraps the blanket better around Crowley's shoulders and gently folds his shades and sets them to the side before looking fondly back at the sleeping demon. The poor dear is so worn out from this.

He remembered something though! There are no plants here. It is winter outside and much too cold. Aziraphale has never been a very good gardener, so unless he saw them on the cover of a book, Crowley wouldn't have seen any violets here. Especially not these ones. He's remembering. The Garden of Eden. That is _something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> tags: softness, miracles, sleepy snek


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> Nightmares, flashbacks, ptsd, descriptions of torture and whipping.  
> I don't think the torture itself is described very graphically, but if there are any other warnings I should include, tell me and I will  
> Tags at the bottom as usual!

_A burst of pain splashes across his face._

_“You know better than to look at me, Demon.” The man says. At least, that's what he thinks the human says. The slap makes his ear ring. It's hard to focus on words. His neck is so sore. The manacles around his wrists are a constant burning sting that Demon has never been able to get used to._

_He tries to focus enough to think, to remember what he's supposed to say. “Sss...sorry.”_

_“Sorry what?”_

“ _Sssorry ... Master.” Demon says roughly._

“ _Better.”_

_The human picks up the blessed cat o'nine from the table._

_Demon's eyes widen a fraction. His back has barely healed from last time they used it. He wants to beg, but begging only makes them hurt him worse. They like it and laugh._

“ _Looking at me, forgetting your place, you really do want to test me today, Demon.”_

_Demon swallows, looking firmly at the ground._

“ _You know why I'm doing this, don't you?”_

“ _I'm ... bad.”_

“ _That's right, Demon. This thing wouldn't hurt you if you didn't deserve it. And one day we'll burn the wickedness right out of you.”_

“ _Thank.. you.” He closes his eyes in resignation. He hates this part. The multi-tailed whip comes down on his skin and it burns him. Oh how it_ _ **burns.**_

_< ~>_

Crowley is in the throes of a terribly bad nightmare and when Aziraphale shakes him awake from it, he has to try and avoid Crowley’s flailing wings. True to his word, the angel does not come upstairs often when Crowley is sleeping, but the sounds he is making tonight are too much for the angel to ignore.

The demon screeches and tries to fight him off, his eyes unseeing as he tries to twist away.

“Nonono _No!”_

“Crowley!” Aziraphale forces his voice to remain calm, remembering Crowley's previous reactions when he has raised his voice. “It's just a nightmare. Shhhh. You're okay now.” He keeps talking, soothing nonsense and eventually Crowley begins to settle some - if it can be called that. He is sobbing, still making broken, inhuman noises.

Aziraphale's heart breaks all over again. He longs to touch but knows that right now Crowley will panic even more and it wouldn't be fair.

Crowley buries his face in his knees. His wings have gone all all weird and floppy again and he curls up into them; wraps them around himself like a safety blanket and he lies under them, sobbing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aziraphale asks him softly.

Crowley shakes his head no under his wings, then remembers that Aziraphale can't see him. “Angel, please!” He doesn't know what he's asking for. His wings droop to his sides again. “Bad. Back there.” Crowley's face is pale and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“You're not back there. Never going back there ever again.” Aziraphale assures him. “You're safe here and you're not going anywhere you don't want to.”

“They liked,” Crowley searches for the right words. “Tricks, mind games ... pain, drugs.” He bunches and fists the blanket under his hand. “Hazy.”

“You don't have to explain anything to me.” Aziraphale tells him.

“You were ... important to me.” Crowley wipes at his face with his hands, frustrated. “Can't remember why.”

“That's okay.” Aziraphale tries to ease his distress.

“Not okay!” Crowley hisses. “Things don't ... make sssense!” He shakes his head forcefully. “You don't understand!”

“Help me understand then, please?”

Crowley takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to figure out what to say. “Foggy ... Bits and pieces.” He frowns. “It's like ... a dream.” Bits of his old life are scattered and confusing. Whenever he tries to grasp onto one of them, the memories slide through his fingertips like grains of sand.

They sit in silence for a while. Aziraphale on the bedside chair, Crowley wrapped up in his black wings and blankets.

"They." Crowley holds his knees tightly. "Made me ... Thank them ... For hurting me." Crowley blinks away tears, and when that doesn't work, he dashes angrily at his face with his hand again.

Aziraphale gives up and moves to carefully sit by him on the edge of the bed. He does not touch Crowley, though he longs to so _very_ much.

"I'm a demon ... Am I bad?” Crowley looks over in Aziraphale's direction, his yellow eyes open wide and lip trembling. “Made wrong?"

“Crowley, you are **not** made wrong. Nor are you bad. You're one of the kindest beings that I've ever met. No one in Heaven _ever_ treats me as nice as you do."

"Did." Crowley interjects.

"Hm?"

"I'm … not him." Crowley curls back up on his side, shaking a bit.

Aziraphale puts his hands firmly in his lap, they are itching so very much to touch, but he reminds himself that Crowley _can't_ handle that yet.

"You are you, and no humans will change that." Aziraphale says calmly instead, hoping to comfort him with his words. "They hurt your body. They hurt your mind. _But_ you still have a good heart." He points to the small plant in the windowsill. The buds are almost open. "You made something _beautiful._ After everything you went through, the first thing you created after being free was new life. It's _hope,_ and look at it, growing."

The demon looks past his wings to look at the plant. His wings are still pretty ragged, but he has tried to set them right. He doesn't see anything special about the plant. He doesn't see what the angel does.

"You aren't the person that you were before this all happened," Aziraphale continues, "but deep inside, you still have the same spark of goodness, kindness, and _love_ that kept me coming back to you over the centuries." He straightens up. "You've always tried to deny it. You always were drawn to the mischief and petty things. But you never _actually_ did evil. 'The humans always beat you to it, you used to say, but I knew that you hated seeing pain and suffering."

"Sorry." Crowley says after they sit there in silence for a moment,

_"Whatever for?"_

"Don't know... How... To be him." His wings shift nervously around him.

"You just keep listening to what your heart tells you." Aziraphale says. "I don't expect you to be anyone other than who you are right now."

"Angel's nice..." He tries to gather his thoughts. "Does nice... For me." Crowley is so tense. "Thanks are painful."

"Well that's one less thing for you to worry about. I don't need thanks. Not from you." Aziraphale smooths the blankets under his hand. "You have always helped me in the past and now it's my turn to pay it back." He stands up. “It's a little early for breakfast, but what do you say we go make some hot coco and sit by the fire? Doesn't that sound lovely, dear fellow?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYY of all the keys to stop working properly, my left shift button is really giving me trouble. I think I caught everything though. Thank you for reading!
> 
> tags: Nightmares, mentions of torture, abuse, comfort, recovering from trauma is messy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gives Crowley a gift. Crowley tests him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's try this again. I posted this chapter and realized the first half of it got left out.

“I got you something!” Aziraphale says one day out of the blue.

Crowley cocks his head with interest. “Me?”

“Yes!" He places down a small wrapped package on the table.

“Why?” Crowley briefly looks at Aziraphale and then back on the table. “What I do?”

“I just thought you might like it...”

Crowley shakes his head. “How do I?”

“Oh! It's wrapping paper," Aziraphale explains. "You just rip it off.”

“Rip- Destroy it?” Crowley furrows his brow.

“It's thin and cheap. The humans make it to tear up.”

Crowley looks aghast at him. Perhaps that hadn't been a wise thing for him to say.

“Er, you can use your nail, peel back the tape carefully and it won't rip. You can save the paper then. Some people also wrap stuff up in thick brown paper. I'll do that next time.”

Crowley slowly picks at the tape until all the paper is free. It's a book. Aziraphale has hundreds of them. He opens this one although books have always given him a headache in the past. This one though, it doesn't have any words. All the pages in between the black leather covers are blank except for the lines.

“It's a journal.” Aziraphale explains.

“Er? Thanks?” He says politely. He thinks as far as gifts go, Aziraphale seems to have really missed the mark with this one. He can barely read on a good day.

“Some humans find a lot of comfort in writing their thoughts down."

“Can't write.” Crowley says apologetically.

“I know your eyes bother you a lot, give you lots of trouble. They always have. But I thought about how you used to write things down. You used to flick your hand at things, and 'imagine it' into reality. Like the miracles.” Aziraphale opens up the book. He waves his hand over the title page and the inscription ' _This his book belongs to: “Anthony J Crowley_ ” appears in thick, flowery script.

“I thought that perhaps, if you'd like, I can try to help you sort out all those thoughts and memories in your mind, help slot them in place. I was here for a good bit of it, after all...” He steps back. “I mean, not that you have to use it. You can put it away in your room and never use it if you'd rather. I just wanted to give you the option. And I’m not trying to presume. You don't have to show it to me even if you do decide to use it. It was just an idea.” He forces himself to stop rambling. It's never been a strong suit of his. Nervous rambling is almost a trademark of his.

Crowley looks at the journal, fingertips resting on the inscription. “Thanks.” He says again, perhaps a bit more genuinely. The paper is indented like Aziraphale had actually taken a pen to the page and written, and the ink, it feels like safety and comfort. It feels like Aziraphale. He looks up and actually meets Aziraphale's gaze for the briefest moment. He closes the journal and holds it in his hands.

_< ~>_

_{ Dark, crowded. I hate it here. Too many people. I miss light_. }

Aziraphale steps back. He didn't meant to read that. Crowley shows him things whenever he is ready. Aziraphale had been just stepping over and wake Crowley, but that line had caught his eye. It feels like a violation. He doesn't know if it's about Hell or his captivity. He doesn't want to know.

He feels sick. Oh his _dear,_ vibrant Crowley. He steps back, almost rushing out of the room. _Why_ didn't he seek out Crowley sooner? He was such a terrible friend. He stumbles into the back room and into his usual chair. His hands cover his eyes and he's crying.He is supposed to be an angel, and look what had happened.

The thing with the Nazis wasn't until 1941. He hadn't sought out the demon because he had been frightened that he'd messed things up majorly. Oh and he had.

They'd had Crowley all this time because of _his_ stubborn unwillingness to try and mend things, to compromise. He cries because he knows this is not something he will ever be forgiven for in the cosmic scheme of things. Heavens, Crowley might never forgive him, and he'd be right not to. What Aziraphale did was unspeakable. How can he still call himself an angel?

<~>

Crowley pads up one day behind Aziraphale, rather silently and almost startles him.

“Real?” He holds his journal aloft at Aziraphale pointing at a paragraph. Crowley's been doing this fairly regularly, checking his memories, trying to sort things out. Aziraphale always answers honestly to try and make up to lying to him for so long and letting him get this hurt.

Sometimes Crowley will test him, change a detail or say something that he knows is wrong. Aziraphale always tries to answer him and gently correct him. Crowley is starting to feel like he can trust the angel. Sometimes he even studies his face. _Never_ directly. Always when Aziraphale isn't looking, or is turned away. He learns the lines of Aziraphale's jaw, watches the way Aziraphale bites into his lips whenever the book he's reading gets interesting. (Crowley likes it when he reads, the angel gets so absorbed into his books, Crowley can really study him then.)

Aziraphale closes the book he's reading now behind the shop counter and looks over to read the text.

_{ I'm standing somewhere warm and I feel safe. Something rips me away._

_I'm falling through the air. Ages and ages. I don't know what's happening to me or why._

_Then I slam into something and it burns. Everything is melting._

_And then it's cold. I feel discarded and I am alone._

_Why? }_

“Yes.” Aziraphale clears his throat. “That one's probably real. Er, something called _the Fall._ How you become a demon.” He clears his throat. “Um, getting pulled out of Heaven.”

Crowley closes the book and pulls it close to him. His wings spring out, like they have been doing any time he's not paying enough attention to keeping them hidden. Whenever Crowley is upset or just not focusing on keeping them put away; it's been too long and his wings want to be free, they demand it. “Why'd … I Fall?” Crowley turns his face to him, eyes open wide and questioning.

“I'm sorry, that I can not tell you.” Aziraphale shifts on his feet. “Not that I am trying to keep it from you, it was just something you never told me exactly.” He sucks on his teeth. “Whenever the subject came up in the past you tended to brush it off or downplay it. You said you didn't mean to Fall.”

Crowley turns that thought over in his mind. “Dream?” He demands after a moment, flipping to another page and holds the book out again.

_{ Bad things happen. They make me feel sick. I try to forget. Everyone keeps telling me I did good. I didn't. I didn't. I lie. }_

“Afraid not.” He says again, the bearer of bad news. “I have my head office, you have yours. Both of us do the job we're told to. Most of the time it's minor stuff.” He fiddles with a pen on the counter. “Though whenever 'the humans' come up with something disastrous, you usually get the credit or rather the blame. You always did hate that. Used to drink yourself silly.”

Crowley flips rapidly to another page and points.

_{ Floating? Flying? Everything moves past fluidly. Dirt. I'm looking for something. Warm, flat, solid. }_

“I am snake.” He says in that strange clipped speech of his. It's not a question. But he seems to be expecting a response. Aziraphale had rather assumed that point was given.

“Yes. You are. You are a demon that can change your body. Sometimes you are person shaped, sometimes you're snake shaped.”

“Snake.” Crowley closes the journal. “Demon.” He taps under his eye thoughtfully and turns away, studying the carpet.

“Crowley, you always were the nicest being I ever knew. Even though you never liked me saying that, always afraid of the wrong person hearing.” Aziraphale leans closer to him, but doesn't touch. “It's why I kept coming up with more and more dangerous situations to find myself in, because you were always saving me. And I missed you.”

Crowley looks back at him, inclines his head slightly and slips away again.

<~>

It's night time. Crowley usually sleeps now while Aziraphale works his way through his books, seeing what needs repairing and what he is actually prepared to part with. Crowley absolutely gives him a fright. He turns around and Crowley is just _there,_ close to him and studying him.

“Oh my, heavens!” Aziraphale clutches at his chest. “Dear, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to make you wear a bell like a cat. You're quite good at lurking in dark places.”

The demon doesn't turn his eyes away during the talk, doesn't react. Aziraphale can feel Crowley looking at him, even hidden by dark glasses. Crowley has started to look at him more and more. Aziraphale never brings it up, scared that Crowley will stop. Maybe one day, he'll be confident enough to actually really _look_ at him. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes.” Crowley says, and then just stands there.

“Er,” Aziraphale moves closer. “What exactly can I help you with?

“Dream.” Crowley helpfully says.

“Uh, you had a dream?”

Crowley nods. “Want.”

“You want to have a dream?”

“No.” Crowley says. “Want do dream!”

“There's... a part of your dream that you want to act out?”

“Yes!” Crowley stares at him.

“What,” He resits the urge to rub his forehead. Talking with Crowley is sometimes like dealing with a small child. “What was in your dream that you are wanting to do?”

“You angel.” Crowley points. “I'm demon.”

“Yes?”

“Wings.” Crowley waves his wings. “You too.”

“Yes...?” Aziraphale calls his wings out, stretching them.

“We fly?” Crowley points up at the big glass skylight. “We fly there?”

“Oh, you want to fly.” Aziraphale thinks about it. “We probably don't want to do it anywhere around here. Not with the whole war bit fresh in everyone's mind. Somewhere very far away. I can take us there, but I'd have to hold onto you. You never did quite get the hang of transporting yourself, though I know some of the other demons can do it.”

Crowley's chest turns to ice. Touching, holding. _They_ were always doing things to him. Aziraphale won't hurt him like that, his brain insists. Aziraphale had made him a warm blanket and jumpers to wear. He cuddles up with a book in front of the fireplace and reads out loud to them both. Aziraphale is _good_ to him. He rescued him, he talks to him. He helped him learn to do miracles again. He gave Crowley a book that he could actually use. But...

Crowley closes his eyes and sighs. “I _want._.. I'm scared.”

“One day, when you're ready, then we'll do that.”

Crowley opens up his eyes. Aziraphale is looking at him so softly. Crowley wants to explain. He's not scared of Aziraphale. Aziraphale is good and kind. But the words die in his throat. Tears leak from behind his glasses and he wipes at his face in frustration.

Aziraphale inhales softly. “Dear boy, _why_ are you crying?”

“Angel good.” He grinds his teeth. “I know that.” He scrubs at his face. “Why can't I?”

“Ssh, it's okay.”

“Sss'not.” Crowley pulls the sun glasses away. “I **want** to!”

Aziraphale moves slowly towards Crowley, unsure.

Crowley's glasses fall from his hands and clatter on the floor. Everything freezes. Crowley's eyes shoot wide with panic. He scrambles to the floor to pick them up. _They had been a gift and he was stupid, how could he just let them fall aside like nothing._

“Crowley,”

“Sorry, sssorry.” He says shakily, fumbling the lenses on the floor. He can't get a good grasp on them. His hands are slippery with sweat and tears.

Aziraphale folds gracefully to his own knees. “Dearest,”

Crowley finally stops trying to pick them up and looks down at the floor miserably. ' _stupid, stupid'_

“Can I tell you a story?” Aziraphale says after a moment. Crowley doesn't move. “Once upon a time,” he starts, like all good stories should begin. “There was a garden. Four angels were tasked with watching over it, making sure the people in it were safe. And one day, everything all went wrong. And one of the angels made a choice, he gave the people the means to protect themselves and rushed them out of the garden before they could be discovered. And then the angel fretted, what if they had done something wrong by helping them?”

Aziraphale continues. “And then along came a demon. It was different than other demons. There was no malice in it's aura. It spoke to the angel, tried to reassure him.”

“Sword.” Crowley speaks up. “Fire

Aziraphale's eyes light up. “Yes. A flaming sword. One given to the Angel by _God_ herself. I gave it to the humans to protect themselves with. Eve was pregnant and there were lots of dangers on Earth. But afterward, I was starting to doubt myself. My job was to protect the inhabitants of the Garden. What if I'd done the wrong thing?”

“Angel doesn't do wrong.”

Aziraphale smiles softly. “That's what you said back then. You were _always_ reassuring me, listening to me when I talked. Over the years I quickly learned you had a taste for mischief and petty annoyances and that you hated hurting others. It used to utterly tear you apart whenever Hell gave you an unpleasant job to do."

"You have a _good_ _heart_ , Crowley, and always have. You've been my friend for nearly 6,000 years. All this time you've trusted me, you've been _kind_ to me. The time we've spent here in the bookshop, well, these last few months are a drop in the bucket compared to all the time we've been on Earth. If it takes you years or decades, even centuries until you feel safe again, then I will be waiting, _patiently_ , like you always waited for me.”

“Aswahfell.” Crowley croaks, mangling the name with his tongue.

Aziraphale thinks his name has never sounded more beautiful. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Trauma recovery, Guilty!Aziraphale, gift giving, mentions of The Fall
> 
> This is the end of the back to back pre-written stuff I've got! I do have an idea of a scene to work towards and I have some of the later stuff written
> 
> Thoughts, comments and Kudos are always loved!
> 
> Till next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a fluffy feel good bit. my left shift key is still acting up pretty majorly. I think I caught everything though. Please let me know if this is not the case!  
> Chapter tags at the bottom

Crowley walks through the bookshop. Winter has melted away outside the bookshop. It has been replaced by dreary rain. He doesn't know why, but he hates the rain. It doesn't help that it's been raining for four days straight and he feels like he's crawling out of his skin. It doesn't make sense. He never goes out. But everything is grey and bleak outside the skylight. It's miserable. He hates it.

He likes the sunshine. It's warm and it feels like the angel. It softens the blows of each memory unpleasant that flits through his mind. A good majority of the memories are _entirely_ unpleasant. He's a demon, that should make sense. It's logical. The only light in his memories is Aziraphale. But there's also something there. Something he doesn't understand.

<~>

He goes upstairs to his bedroom to grab his journal and then goes back downstairs to find Aziraphale. He's in the front of the shop again, unsurprisingly. He's almost always in here now. The shop will be ready to open again soon, he estimates. Once he locates the angel, he turns to a blank page and holds it up to Aziraphale, getting his attention

“ _I'm not your friend.”_ Aziraphale reads to himself in a low voice . _“Oh.”_ Aziraphale reads the page again, his voice hurt. “I had rather thought we'd been getting along swimmingly as of late.”

Crowley stomps his foot. “No! You _said._ ” A dream of a memory slices through him, so clearly it has to be real. New words pop up on the page { You said it and I think I laughed? } And then { What changed your mind, angel? }

“Right.” Aziraphale says slowly as he dredges up the proper memory. Crowley with that terrible goatee and those splendid looking thighs. “So, um. You and I have something we call 'the arrangement'. We do work for each other, sometimes. But we're really not supposed to. And so whenever we were in public we played up the whole enemy thing so we didn't get caught.”

{ You're an angel and I'm a demon. }

“Yes. Neither of our sides would be thrilled to know what exactly we were doing, of course. Like how I told you to stay upstairs if they ever visit here. We _really_ don't want to be caught. Oh, the things I said to you...” The angel wrings his hands. “And not all of it was an act. In the earlier days of the two of us knowing each other, I didn't know quite what to make of you. I mean, Heaven had prepared us for _demons,_ but no one prepared me for _**you.**_ You were kind and gentle, and you had such a big heart. You were always doing lovely things for me and fixing problems whenever you could.”

Aziraphale sighs and rubs his eyes. “Still, I let the things I learned up in Heaven colour my views and I said cruel, untrue things to you.” He frowns. “I'm sorry. You are my dearest friend. Drat it, you're my only friend, and maybe if I'd gotten my head out of my arse sooner I could have tracked you down before everything got nearly this bad. I'm _so_ sorry.”

“I don't blame _you._ ” Crowley sits down on the sofa next to him and lays his head tentatively on Aziraphale's shoulder. “so... we're friends?” He pulls the book up to his chest.

“Yes.” Aziraphale puts a reassuring hand on his knee and gives it a light squeeze before remembering himself and pulling his hand back. Crowley sits up and grabs his hand; pulls it back to rest on his leg. “Are you sure?” Lately, Crowley is the one who touches him. The demon has only tolerated being touched for the briefest times.

“Yes... No... Ssstay here...For now.”

Crowley lets Aziraphale's hand rest there for 10 minutes before he springs up and paces around the room, breathing hard.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale calls after him gently to try and check on him.

“You friend! I want...” Crowley blinks away tears of frustration.

“It's okay.” Aziraphale pulls his feet up on the sofa and curls them underneath him. “It's taking time, but you're getting better. Do you remember when you first got here. You used to panic or shut down any time I touched you at all. _This_ is progress.”

“Too slow!” Crowley huffs, it is much _too_ slow, and he walks over to where he's moved his violets on one of the windowsills in an effort to distract himself.

“Crowley, we are an _angel_ and a d _emon_. Time doesn't mean the same thing to us as it does to other people. It's a made up, human concept.”

One of the buds of the plant is starting to open. Crowley can see the hints of wonderful purple underneath. He waters it carefully before walking back to the sofa. “I like time.” He slumps down on the far side of it.

“I know you do, dear.”

Crowley frowns. He's been meaning to ask about that. “Why you say that?”

“Well, it's just, you're always playing around with the styles of each era, changing, like an actor putting on a costume, only you _live_ it. And you do live it brilliantly.”

Crowley purses his lips. That wasn't what he had meant at all. “ _Dear?_ Keep saying it.”

“Oh _that._ Dear is a sign of affection. You're _so_ very important to me.”

“Me? Why?” Crowley doesn't look like he's fishing for compliments. He looks genuinely confused. Has he heard _nothing_ Aziraphale has said the whole time he's been here?

“I think it was maybe, _hm_ , 700 or 800 BC. I was in Greece to do some blessing, and I'm strolling around Eleusis and I walked by the marketplace and there you were. I don't think you even knew I was even in town. There were several children around you, dressed in scraps and they were talking to you animatedly. And after each story they told you, you'd give them a dried fig.” He smiles softly. “You were always doing things like that. Whether it was making sure a lost child found her mum or letting a young beggar miraculous find a shilling on the street in the winter when they had nothing to eat. Your heart was _always_ in the right place, and your actions.. _._ ”

“After the arrangement began, we started to see each other more and more. We discovered that we both liked a great deal of the same things. Not everything. You had your mischief and dark broody ways while I had the whole 'Heavenly Soldier' mindset. We did like wine, and art galleries, plays, parks, and museums, and you always took me out to the most magnificent restaurants because you knew I liked to eat. And you were always interesting to talk to. You still are.”

Crowley scoffs in disbelief “I don't talk.”

“Oh, but you do. Just like how I read novels, there's so many words in your face and your body language. Your actions speak _volumes_ Like how earlier this week you asked me for a book on plant care. Just like you were always feeding and nourishing those who were helpless you're still doing that. Your violets are flourishing, and it's not me who's making that happen.”

Aziraphale sits forward eagerly. “And I never even told you how to make cocoa, you just watched me do it enough and then one night you brought me some. Every single night since then you have made me a mug of it before you go to bed. Words, they may come from your mouth, but every action you make comes from your _heart._ And your heart is _so_ good.”

And suddenly Crowley is bawling.

“Oh gracious.” Aziraphale whips out his hanky from his jacket pocket and offers it to Crowley. “What did I say? What's wrong, Dear?”

“They said I'm bad.” Crowley wipes at his face. “Always wanted to be good.”

“They were liars.” Aziraphale says firmly. “You're _not_ bad. They wanted to hurt someone and they found an _excuse.”_

Crowley bites his lower lip.

“Do you hear me? Can you say it? You're not bad.”

Crowley fiddles with the handkerchief and swallows. “I'm … I'm not bad.”'

“You're good.” Aziraphale says.

“I'm.” He scrunches the hanky. “I'm not bad.”

“You aren't. And any time you have doubts, I'll be right here to reassure you. Every single time. No matter if I have to repeat it for a thousand years. You are my friend. I care about you. You aren't bad and you certainly aren't evil. You're considerate and funny. You've shown more compassion to others than some of the angels up in Heaven. You're good, even if you can't say it yet. I _know_ it. Your soul glows. It's altogether _resplendent._ I am blessed to have you in my life. _**You.**_ Not just the ghost of who you were in the past. Who you are right now in this very moment.”

“I'm grateful you trusted me enough to stay here, even at the beginning when you had no idea who I was and knew nothing other than pain and that I could hurt you - you kept trusting me. You never once tried to run away or escape, which quite frankly if our situations were reversed and I was a helpless angel with no memory and a powerful demon showed up and stole me away, I probably would have tried to run at every chance. But you, you put so much faith into me. And you don't know how much it means to me that you do.”

“Your friendship has meant the world to me for many millennia, Crowley. You're the only person who has ever truly _known_ me. You have been, and will always be dear to me. I’d still care even if you were to rightfully decide to hate me. I took you for granted and look what happened because of it. But you still offer me that friendship and your trust. I won't forget that again.”

“Angel!” Crowley darts to Aziraphale's side. “Never hate you!”

“You got hurt!” Aziraphale turns to him.

“Made it better!” Crowley grabs his hand and closes his eyes. “Angel good... Angel nice... Angel dear too.”

Aziraphale exhales. “I... thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy!
> 
> Chapter tags: minor misunderstandings, comforting aziraphale, fluff


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springs fades to summer. Crowley starts feeling things other than scared, distrustful, panicked, and used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I've written SO much of this story this week. A great deal of what's to come. it looks like 3-4 more chapters, but that may change. There are... Things... happening in the next chapter. Thanks to everyone for their patience with me, and for pushing me to keep chipping away at this story. I'll be polishing and editing the older stuff on this fic too, mostly just minor stuff like punctuation.

March's rain has melted away. Crowley lies under the skylight, basking in the sunlight. It's his favorite spot now. Aziraphale just lets him stay there. He goes about re-arranging the books again as the demon almost dozes in the warmth. Privately, he wonders if Aziraphale is putting off re-opening the bookshop so he can keep an eye on him. Crowley doesn't think it's too big of a deal, Aziraphale likes keeping his books _far_ more than he 'likes' selling them.

That brings up another thought. Not only is Aziraphale NOT opening, Crowley thinks the angel is nice not to bring up just how _bad_ he is at expressing himself. Not _communicating_ , Crowley supposes they get that done fairly well. Most of the time they use his journal. When he speaks, certain sounds range from mildly unpleasant to downright painful to replicate. Especially R's. Rolling R's are the worst. Crowley goes out of his way to avoid speaking _certain_ words- or a lot of words, really. His words sound funny. The slur he supposes is his snake shining through. Yet another thing that he's not able to control.

It's been a long time since his throat was hurt last, but the damage is still there. He talks because he needs to speak, because the angel wants to hear him do so. But he's not so great at asking for things outright, his own wants and needs. When he's uncomfortable, he bears it because that was what he did for so long, it's all he knows how to do. Refusal was not something he was allowed to consider before, and it's still hard for him to do now. He always expects to be punished. When he has a request, he sits on it for days, hoping the angel will figure it out and offer it to him first.

But kind words, gentle words, and comforting offers; Crowley doesn't know what to do with them. How to accept them. Aziraphale, bless him, (damn him? He's a demon, though he doesn't feel that Hell has any place in his life anymore) he understands. He always does. He gives Crowley space when he needs it, or is there for him when he needs someone close. The angel doesn't yell. He doesn't hit him. He treats Crowley much kinder than he deserves. He's sassy, and makes adorable faces. He's funny too, and his presence is like a soothing balm to his mess of a soul.

They (Aziraphale really) work out several hand signs. _“Anxiety/panic”,_ _“sleep”,_ _“danger”,_ and _“safe.”_ Aziraphale is amazed at the progress Crowley has made and the work he puts in to finding his new normal. His confidence is growing. He meets Aziraphale's eyes more often then not. The first time Crowley scrunches up his nose in distaste at something, Aziraphale almost weeps. He's like a delicate flower slowly unfurling. He's putting down roots and making himself at home in the bookstore flat.

Crowley's nightmares start to fade, the longer he's with the angel, the safer he feels. Things don't feel like tests, every conversation isn't filled with minefields for him to avoid. Aziraphale seems charmed when he indulges himself or proud when he does things without being directed. It's _nice_ (there's that word again. It grates at his mind a bit, but his angel can't be described as anything _but_ nice) He's safe here and he trusts Aziraphale.

<~>

Crowley is helping him. (Well, not really, he's snoozing in the sun while Aziraphale works but he's getting more comfortable being in the shop) When he's awake, he'll dust off the shelves, straighten piles of books on the floor, even taking a few books off the shelves and carefully cracking them open to smell them. Smell is important to the demon, he notices, where before he occasionally scented the air, now Crowley almost shoves his nose into things and let's the smell wash over him.

“Ready for a break, dear boy? I'll make us some tea.” Aziraphale asks him when he sees the lump on the floor start to move.

“No tea.” Crowley pushes up the tangle of his limbs on the floor, and arches his spine in a deep stretch.

“Coffee then?”

“No.” Crowley glares at the kettle as he follows him into the kitchen. “Hate hot.”

Aziraphale looks incredibly pleased that he spoke up for himself. It's one of the only time's he's done so.

“Perhaps an ice lolly instead?”

<~>

It's in late spring, that Crowley starts insisting he wants to see the ducks. Aziraphale reminds him that it's like his wings, he has to go outside to do that. He isn't sure the demon is ready to deal with all those people yet, but Crowley keeps badgering him. So Aziraphale begins to plan.

They do make it out of the house eventually. At first it's only at night time or in the early morning for a couple minutes. That's when the streets are less crowded- there's lots of people in London. Crowley is both pushy and hesitant. He begs Aziraphale to let them leave the shop each day, but once they do he trembles and grips onto the angel's arm so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Crowley freezes up anytime someone so much as breathes in their general direction, and it takes him two weeks to even make it past the gates at the front of the park.

The redhead uses a mix of his danger sign and pulling him away at first. They keep trying. They make new signs. _“Bookstore”,_ _“park”_ and _“Leave_ _now”._

By mid summer he's able to make it to the park at night for a whole 20 minutes. Crowley gets twitchy if they stay for too long. It's too open, too dark. Aziraphale is sitting too far away.

When they make it home each time, Crowley curls up in a nest of pillows and cushions (Aziraphale let him pile them up under the skylight one day and then the angel had never picked everything up) and trembles in exhaustion. Aziraphale is so proud of him. Crowley is making huge progress on being able to be out of the shop.

<~>

Crowley blinks awake one of these times to find Aziraphale touching (petting?) His fluffy white wings in the moonlight, clearly unaware that he was awake from his impromptu post-park nap.

Crowley watches him sleepily, trying to make sense of it. Grooming! He's grooming his wings. Crowley sits up, his golden eyes open wide. He's filled with the bizarre desire to bury his face in the angels wings.

Aziraphale turns and sees him sitting up. “Oh, you're awake now. Shall I make us a early morning snack? I can finish this later.”

“No.” Crowley shakes his head and stands.

“Then perhaps-”

“Can I, can I touch them?”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “You want to touch my wings? You have your own.”

“Might be different. Stupid. Sorry.” He moves to sit back down.

“Well now, that wasn't a no.” Aziraphale says softly. “It's alright, dear boy. I don't mind you touching them.”

Crowley swallows and lays a hand on one of the wings, barely touching it. He gasps.

“is everything okay?”

“Wings soft.”

Crowley closes his eyes and moves his hands gently, scared to accidentally tug a feather out of place. “So soft.”

“I suppose they are rather fluffy. That's why I have to groom them so much. They get into a right state if I ignore them for too long.”

He opens his eyes. “I watch?”

“I don't think you'll find it terribly interesting, but you're more than welcome to. I'm about halfway done. It's much easier to do this to someone else than it is to do it yourself. Most of the time someone helps, but I've learned to do it myself.”

Crowley tries to think. He doesn't remember. “Did we?”

“No, we were usually on different continents when our wings needed attention.”

“Oh.”

Crowley watches him as he resumes his work, picking feathers, straightening them and running his fingers over them. It's a long process, and he watches it earnestly. His own wings are in a sad state, and he needs to learn how to take care of them again. Eventually Aziraphale is done.

He snaps and the scattered feathers sweep themselves up off the floor and into the pile. It's and odd habit of his, but he's been collecting his feathers for ages. They make nice soft pillows. He turns back to Crowley. “If you're okay with it, I could do yours too. You can say no. I won't mind.”

Crowley flushes. He _wants_ Aziraphale to do this. Every fiber of his very being is screaming at him to accept. “No. I mean yes! No to saying no!”

Aziraphale beams. “Here, lie down on the chaise lounge, I'll start with one wing, and once I'm finished, you can tell me if you want me to do the other or if you need a break, okay?”

Crowley goes to sit on the backless lounge then hesitates. “I watch?” He points at the decorative mirror hanging on one of the walls.

“Of course dear.” Aziraphale takes the mirror down off the wall and sets it down on the wall next to the lounge.

Crowley lays on his stomach and adjusts the mirror so he can see better. Aziraphale talks to him, warning him about everything before he does it. And he watches the angel work in the mirror. He should feel scared, turning his back. The old him from a few months ago never would have let this happen. Now he watches with idle curiosity, and tries to remember what is being done so he can do it to himself when he needs to. He wonders if it was him or Aziraphale who always made sure they were apart when this happened. Why didn't they do this before? Will this happen again in the future?

“These scars, how did you get scars on your wings when they were bound up? Did they find a way to bring your wings out, or were they locked away as punishment?” Aziraphale runs his hand along one of the raised lines on his wings.

“No.” Crowley answers to both. The collar had kept them hidden, but the whip had burned him on more than just the physical level. His snake form is probably covered with scars too, though he doesn't really remember how to shift forms anymore. Funny, he'd always been scared he'd forget how to _not_ be a snake, and now it's beyond him. “Whip. Blessed.” He rests his forehead on his arms. “Reached them.” The humans didn't even know how to manifest his wings, thankfully. They'd have to remove some of the bindings, and that was too much of a risk.

Aziraphale pulls his hand away. “Oh, am I hurting you?”

“Don't stop.” Crowley shakes his head. “Used to it.”

It's not too painful, in itself. Aziraphale plucks feathers out and makes a pile on the floor. Crowley picks one of the discarded feathers up with interest and examines it closely. He glances over his shoulder. “Angel...” Aziraphale's feathers felt softer. His are coarse and dense. He wonders if his feathers have always looked like this, or if it's from them being hidden away for so long. He sleepily blinks as Aziraphale works. It feels really good.

By the time Aziraphale stops, his wing is looking much better. Crowley yawns. That is probably the longest he's let someone touch him in a long long time. He examines his wing. It look much more presentable now, though it'll take a real molt for to fully restore it. He opens up his mouth. He wants to thank the angel, but expressing gratitude is mixed with negativity. “Erg. I appreciate...”

“It's okay. I know. You don't have to say anything.” Aziraphale offers him a warm smile. “Really, Dear boy. I know.”

“Next?” Crowley asks, unable to look at his face any longer. He's flustered and he doesn't know what to do with it. His thoughts are tangl-y and his stomach flutters. Anxiety, he supposes. That makes sense, trusting someone to touch his wings for so long.

“Let me move to the other side of the chair. Just a mo.” He shuffles. “There we go, I'll do the other side now.” Crowley lays his head down.

“Are you okay? Do you need a break?”Aziraphale asks him.

“Dunno... Maybe?”

Aziraphale gently puts his wing down. “We can do the other one tomorrow.”

Crowley looks at himself in the mirror, sees the difference in the two wings. He admires Aziraphale work. “Tomorrow.” He shifts. “Angel want coco?”

“That'd be lovely, dear. Why don't you do that while I make you something too? I got a recipe for a strawberry smoothie I think you'll enjoy it. Shall we go to the kitchen then?” He offers Crowley a hand.

“Yeah. I'd like that.”

Aziraphale is beaming again as they make their way to the kitchen upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this! The next part will hopefully go up soon! Thanks for reading. Writing Crowley is always one of my absolute favorite things. Writing a Crowley that has speech problems is harder because Aziraphale and Crowley can BANTER. But also since I'm deaf, I started throwing some signs into the mix. I'm hesitant to say sign language because it's more like gestures. An interesting thing to me was that after losing my hearing, it became much easier to discuss hard stuff, because I could sign it instead of talking. It's freeing, and I imagine Crowley feels similar, nice to be able to fall back on signs when he can't talk.
> 
> Chapter tags: trauma recovery, signing, Crowley is a snek, but not really; he just likes napping in the sun all curled up, discomfort around people, Wing grooming, Crowley trust Aziraphale, scars, minor discussions of torture


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uninvited guests visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. uh, quite the change up in this chapter. Gonna break it up here, because it's getting long. chapter tags in the bottom note

There's something outside and it's not good. He can feel it in his bones. _Dangerdangerdanger_! It screams, making the hair raise up on his arms. Normally he'd get Aziraphale, Aziraphale would know what to do. But the angel isn't here. He is out shopping, and Crowley is on his own. He pulls his dark glasses on and peeks out the curtains in the flat upstairs to see if he can spot what's setting off his senses. And there's someone on the street looking straight at the window. Crowley pulls back with a gasp and panics.

Bad. He can't be here. Crowley is out the door before he can even think. He flies down the stairs. Hellfire? No, he doesn't remember how to make that. He tries to make something, but the webs don't listen to him and his panic today. Why didn't he get Aziraphale to leave him something? How is he supposed to protect the shop on his own? Everything in his memory about this demon is bad. He still doesn't remember everything, but he does remember that he hates this creature and must make him leave. And all he has is a mind that won't even listen to him to deal with the demon.

“What you want?!” Crowley growls as he stalks out of the shop, pretending to be confident. The humans ignore the shopfront, and them by extension. Small bit a relief, that.

“So it is true.” Hastur grimaces. “You're here, at that _**angel's**_ shop.” He spits the words out.

“And?”

“Had to see it for myself, deal with you. Thought you were taken care of years ago. Imagine my surprise when your powers suddenly came back online. And again when you started miracling.” He sneers. “Flowers? Really? Let me guess, for _him.”_

Crowley stands there. He has nothing to explain to Hastur. “Deal with me?”

“Well, thought those humans did it, guess we were wrong.”

“Hell knew?” Crowley tries to mask the pain in his voice.

“Figured any demon who was dumb enough to let himself get caught by humans deserved it. Not wasting our time saving your sorry self. Even if upper management likes you." Another nasty grin. "Well, liked you. I don't suppose they'll be pleased to hear you're working with the enemy now, traitor.”

Crowley feels a cool rage burn through his skin. “Traitor.” He murmurs. “If I'm traitor... Hell made me one... it's not so bad... better than death, sulfur, and misery.” He flashes his fangs at Hastur, feeling them grow in his mouth, responding to his anger. “Didn't miss how... you smell of shite.”

“And I didn't miss your mouth.” Hastur sneers. “And you don't scare me. You're still a demon. Holy water will work on you, though it's not you that needs to worry.” Hastur holds his palm up. “Fire burns books.” He summons up hellfire. “And this burns angels.”

Crowley feels sick to his stomach. “Don't.”

“It'd be a pity if I had to use this right away. I enjoy getting to draw things out. I don't have to get close to lob some of this your way, Doesn't matter what you and that angel have worked out to try and protect yourselves. You have no idea how happy I'm going to be take you down.”

The demon looks up, curses. "Next time." He sinks into the ground.

Aziraphale is back early.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale is running towards the shop, no groceries in his hands. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“Inside, Angel.”

He enters the shop without turning his back, keeping an eye out for any lurking demons.

<~>

“Keep away from the windows, Dear.”

Not safe. It's not safe here. Being seen through the window is the least of his worries. He can't protect Aziraphale's shop from hellfire. He can control the fire, direct it, but he can't extinguish it's flame. It spreads too fast. His breathing gets fast at the thought and he starts to cry. He's used to pain. He can take pain. But the Angel. They'll hurt Aziraphale instead. Crowley shakes. They're going to hurt Aziraphale and it's his fault.

“I'm right here, Crowley. Try and relax. It's okay. I'm here now.” Aziraphale continues to make soothing noises.

“Not safe!” He feels sick.

“I'll keep you safe.”

“No!” He turns towards Aziraphale. “You! Not safe! ... He threaten... Hellfire.” He imagines the shop burning, and them trapped inside it. Precious books devoured by a greedy beast. Hellfire won't hurt a demon, but he will be helpless to stop it from killing Aziraphale. The thought of watching Aziraphale burn, it's too much for his stomach. He turns to the side and vomits.

“We'll figure this out Crowley.” Aziraphale rubs his back as he miracles up a clean towel and wipes at Crowley's thin lips.

“You go Heaven. Safe there.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Aziraphale snaps away the sickness. “I won't leave you here.”

Crowley looks up in alarm. “Need to go!”

“He wants to hurt you. I felt it. I'm a convenient way to do it.” He runs his hands through Crowley's hair.

“Lie down here on the sofa.” Aziraphale says once he's exhausted from crying. “I'll look through my books. The humans may have come up with better ways to protect. I haven't been too worried about it, since you were the only demon on Earth, really. Just close your eyes for a little bit, dear. I'll read up. I'll be right back, just going to get a few books from downstairs.

<~>

Crowley falls asleep to the feeling of Aziraphale running his hand through Crowley's hair and hearing him flip through pages.

<~>

Crowley blinks up, taking a few moments to remember why he's asleep in the middle of the day on the sofa in the sitting room. And then _dangerdangerdanger_ is back. He spins around the room looking for Aziraphale. He's alone. He shoots up. He has to find Aziraphale. And then he hears voices. He creeps down the stairs, avoiding the spots he knows will make the steps creak.

There are two of them. A tall one and a short one. The smell of death doesn't follow them, so they must have bodies like his. Their faces don't immediately stand out to him, but he knows they are bad news. And one of them is crowding up against Aziraphale. The danger feeling spikes.

“EAVE HIM LONE!” Crowley is suddenly between them and pushing the tall one away away flashing his teeth. Crowley's hand strikes the short one, drawing blood.

The being reacts. “Demon.”

“Crowley, stop!” Aziraphale says.

Crowley pauses, staring down at his bloody hands, uncomprehending. Nothing is on fire. There's no stench of sulfur from the cuts. Aziraphale is upset. He never yells.

“It listens to you?” they asks looking at the gouges on their arms.

Crowley still hasn't moved, standing between the not-demons and Aziraphale.

“Um, yes?”

“You could have told us what you were doing.” The tall one heals up the deep scratches with a wave. “Would have saved us a trip.” He rolls his eyes. “So, how did you get it under your thumb? Good work there. I'll expect a full report on my desk in the morning, _including_ why you chose to sit on this information and why it's _free_ in your shop.”

<~>

And then the two not-demons are gone and it's just him and Aziraphale in the shop.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale approaches him slowly with his arms raised.

Crowley's hand has started shaking and his ears ring. Blood drips to the floor. “Not demons.”

“Not demons.” He confirms. “Archangels. Checking up on me.” He tries again. “Crowley?”

“Sorry.” He bites his lip hard. “I hurt someone.” Crowley sinks to his knees and tries not to get sick. His hands still have those dark, sinister claws. Demon hands. Bad hands. “I thought... Were going to hurt you...Hell again.” He sobs. “Didn't mean too. Sorry” 'Ground rule', he remembers. 'Stay upstairs when heaven is here.' He broke the rules even if he didn't know he was doing it at the time. He was trying to protect Aziraphale and instead, he made trouble for the angel. He's going to pay now. "Sorry."

Crowley is trembling violently. "Please don't hurt me." Falls out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Aziraphale draws back a bit and lowers his hands.

“I know you were trying to protect me.” Aziraphale tries to comfort him.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that, Aziraphale speaking calmly to him.

“Told me” Crowley says once he's started to calm down. “To stay hidden. Sorry.”

“No! You bought me some time. I should be thanking you.” Aziraphale holds up a tartan cloth. "Can I come over there?"

Crowley nods. Aziraphale shouldn't have to ask in his own house. How could he have thought Aziraphale would hurt him? He knows he won't. Aziraphale is good.

He gently cleans Crowley's hand off with the hanky. “I know you're still upset from this morning, and Uriel is, shall we say, less than fond of me.” He flicks the cloth and it's clean before he folds it and puts it away. “But I didn't know they were coming by or I would have waken you up and let you know. I was just getting another book. I didn't think I'd be long.”

“Angel not mad?” He sniffles.

“I'm not. It's been quite the day, why-”

Both of them startle as the sound of something popping into existence catches their attention.

It's an envelope. Aziraphale crosses the room and picks up the envelope, removing the letter slowly and reading it as he walks back towards Crowley.

“Wha?”

“it's a note." He clears his throat. "from Gabriel. He wants to meet tomorrow after he reads my report. In Heaven.” Aziraphale sets the letter down. “I'm supposed to bring you.” He puts the paper down. “That was quick. I thought we'd have more time.”

Crowley feels Aziraphale's fear flare up.

“I don't know how I'm going to spin this in the report, but I'll think of something dear boy.”

Crowley looks at him. “You lie.”

“I'm not lying. I will.”

“No.” Crowley stands and grabs onto Aziraphale's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “You. Lie.”

Aziraphale blinks.

“You said...I lied to my bosses... Right?” He inhales. “Humans did demon stuff?”

“Er, yes?”

“Your turn.” He holds Aziraphale's gaze. “Lie to them.”

“I'm not sure I can.” Aziraphale frets and twists his hands nervously.

“You have to!” Crowley is adamant. “You say whatever. I listen to you. I do what you say.” Crowley holds onto his shoulders. “Please.” The angel has protected him for so long. He doesn't know what would happen if Aziraphale wasn't there anymore, nor does he ever intend to find out.

“Perhaps I can bend the truth enough to be believed.” He reaches up to touch Crowley's hands on his shoulder. “Maybe it will be enough. It has to be!”

Crowley closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Aziraphale's. “No, don't lie.” They will expect a lie. “Just don't... tell everything.” He exhales shakily. “Best lies... grain of truth in them.”

Aziraphale's mouth drops open in surprise.

“Tell them you're... taking advantage of situation.”

“Crowley, no!”

Crowley's eyes fill with tears. “I'm already hurt... What if they hurt you too?” Crowley sobs. “Can't. Need you okay.”

“It might work.” He admits weakly. “I hate this plan.”

Crowley swallows. “You have idea?”

Aziraphale sighs. “Undoubtedly they will question us. A lot. You'll have to relive some _rather_ unpleasant events if we do this.”

They don't have any other choice. Crowley forced their hand. If only he'd followed the rules. “Questioning.” Ha. That is nothing compared to what he's been through. Crowley will dive into a pool of holy water if it means protecting Aziraphale. Even if the archangels decide to punish him tomorrow, he has to make sure that Aziraphale is safe. He has to make them listen. Hell can't reach Aziraphale in Heaven. It doesn't matter if he gets hurt as long as Aziraphale is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry those who wanted more fluff, this chapter has lots of drama! I have 7 more word documents in this universe. Those will probably be 4 more chapters. Don't know if they'll come this fast though.
> 
> Chapter tags: Hastur, Hellfire, panic attacks, archangels, ptsd


	10. Interogations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Demon and the Angel go to Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends kind of abruptly, because I realized I was only about halfway through and I'd already passed 4k words. So my chapter guesstimate is off. I still have 7 word documents left, so we'll see how things go

Aziraphale is a bit surprised that they would even granted them the night. He had almost expected to be brought back to Heaven with the archangels. Were they listening to see if they conspired? If so, they'd have heard their conversation from earlier. They'd know there were things they weren't telling. The anxiety eats at him. What is going happen to Crowley up in Heaven? Can Aziraphale protect them both?

They stay up late, Aziraphale reading to Crowley and occasionally pausing to discuss what the morning will bring. Crowley is worked up, and the angel does his best to reassure him that they will get through this together, and everything will be okay. Whatever happens, they will get through it. They have each other. They are not alone. He keeps repeating this, maybe Crowley will believe it

<~>

The daybreak comes too soon.

Aziraphale leads Crowley down the street arm in arm. It is late morning and there are far more folks out and about than Crowley has ever been able to tolerate being around. Sharp automobiles cut through the road, and he briefly wishes he'd thought to learn to use one of those. Aziraphale thinks of the way Crowley had begged him yesterday to return to Heaven to keep him safe from Hastur. He thinks about what he'll say in Heaven to ensure that they both leave alive.

They make it through London with Crowley balling up his fists and focusing on not having a panic attack. Breathe he reminds himself. Breathe, do this for Aziraphale. Head down, one foot in front of the other. Walking half a step beside Aziraphale. He would grab onto his hand too but he knows that if he does that, Aziraphale will feel how scared he is and it'll mess things up. Aziraphale is counting on him. The angel has done so much for Crowley and now he needs to return the favor. He needs to hold it together.

Heaven is _Very_ _Important_ to Aziraphale. Crowley knows this. His memories are slightly hazy, but he remembers the where the angel's loyalty lies. He also knows that Aziraphale is the kindest, softest soul, that he's the best thing in heaven and Crowley can't be responsible for having his heart ripped out of him. Aziraphale believes in goodness. He believes in love and forgiveness. Crowley has to protect this angel. He'll let heaven know everything that the humans did to him if it means he can help Aziraphale.

 _Almost there._ Crowley thinks. The angel is guiding him, almost pulling him along. _Just a little bit longer. Please just be a little bit longer._ He doesn't think he can take much more... And there will be so much more in Heaven. Crowley's exhausted already. There is a familiar building up ahead that houses rifts in the fabric of the universe, allowing Heaven and Hell to bleed through.

"This way." Aziraphale leads him through the building and to a staircase. He's only ever gone down. But he steels himself up, putting one foot in down and then the other as he climbs the stairs. Far more stairs than this building could ever contain. Up and up.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. For Aziraphale. He does not know if he's going to be able to leave once they have him in Heaven. Crowley is only a pawn. Aziraphale is the white queen and they're trying to catch him. The angel is already in trouble for harboring the demon. They're here to do damage control. He will not let them hurt Aziraphale. _No._ His angel is guilty of mercy, kindness, and forgiveness. Nothing else.

This is the story he needs to sell and sell it well. He's prepared to do anything.

<~>

They emerge in a corridor upstairs. It's bright white, and Crowley is glad for his dark glasses and hat, otherwise he might have gone blind at the sudden change. The air up here _tingles._ Their arrival is expected if the angels waiting for them are any indication.

“This way Aziraphale. Demon, this way.” _They're splitting them up, smart._ Aziraphale had warned him they might.

Aziraphale squeezes his elbow, knowing that Crowley hates being referred to as that but can't risk offering him more support. “Crowley, look at me. I want you to listen to them. Do what they tell you to.”

<~>  
Crowley is deposited in a room. There is a metal table with three chairs and a round metal circle in the middle of the table. Someone pushes him into a chair and handcuffs him to the ring in table. He feels the cold iron and tries not to be overwhelmed by it. They put his hat out of reach, and his sunglasses too, and then they leave him there. He doesn't know for how long, or what they're watching him for. The bite of the metal does not sting him, not like _that._ Though the whole room feels holy and there is a buzzing under his skin.

They leave him there for what feels like hours. The silence doesn't bother him. He's used to it. Yet, he isn't sure why no one has even asked him a question yet. The quiet wait is familiar. His brain starts falling into old patterns. He could break this chain, it'd be simple, but counter productive.

\- _Behave,_ _Demon.-_

 _Quiet_. Be calm. Be Quiet.

He doesn't do anything, not even fidget. He sits straight in the chair, hands shackled, bound in place. He knows how to do this part. There's a blinding whiteness and the duality is messing with his mind. He has to do this for his angel. He shouldn't be here, it's wrong! Aziraphale promised him that he'd never allow him to be in this situation again. No, he's only in Heaven because he couldn't follow the rules. He has to make this right. He'll pay any price to keep Aziraphale safe.

Aziraphale is an angel. He has compassion for all living creatures. It doesn't matter to him that Crowley is a demon. He rescued him, comforted him, took care of him while asking for nothing in return. Crowley's stomach flutters. Hell knows where Aziraphale lives, what is precious to him. Crowley has to pass whatever tests the angels give to him. He has to be allowed to go back to the bookshops before another demon makes a move.

What are they waiting for?  
<~>  
They question Aziraphale relentlessly. He sticks to the facts as much as possible. It feels like betrayal, spilling Crowley's secrets. Even though he has permission.

“And these?” Gabriel plops something on the table. “How do you explain them?”

Aziraphale blinks down at the photos of them. They're so clear. It was dark, the park was empty, but there are photos. And not just of them at the park. The demon in the front windows of the bookshop, pictures taken of him dozing under the skylight. Of Crowley grabbing onto his arm in the shop front. And then there are older ones. Ones throughout the ages. A timeline of their friendship.

"Well,” He resists the urge to run away screaming. He has to protect Crowley. “My job is to protect the people of Earth, her creations. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer as the humans say. I found it best to keep a close eye on him, it's far easier to thwart if you have an idea of what to expect."

<~>

When the door opens and they come into the room, there are two of them again. One from yesterday, the other is new. They sit at the table, not talking to him. Crowley tries to sit there in silence, projecting an air of calm obedience. He's here because Aziraphale took him. He'll do what Aziraphale says.

“Do you remember me from yesterday? I'm the archangel Gabriel. This is Archangel Micheal. And you're the demon Crawly.”

“Crowley.” His mouth moves before he can think, correcting him. It's always that problem with him. Why doesn't he ever learn? Crowley tries not to panic at his mistake. He's fairly sure he's trembling a bit, but Gabriel doesn't say anything.

“Right. So. Aziraphale had some interesting things to say about you.” He snaps and his clothes are gone. “So he wasn't lying about _that.” The_ archangels come around the table looking at his scars. There's talking, but he can't identify the words.

Crowley feels fingertips prod his back and just like that, he shuts down. The danger is too much, all his talk was for nothing. he's too tense, he can't think. They're touching him. The ringing in his ears consumes him. There's yelling. No! He doesn't want this to happen again. Not now that Aziraphale has convinced him to be soft again.

He's panicking. _Stop touching me. Please. No!_ He feels something give and he isn't sure if it's his wrists or the table but he stumbles back into the wall and slides down into the corner. _Angel,_ _help._ He think over the shouting. He curls into a tight ball, and tries to block out the yelling. _Nonono._ "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" _ZIRA._ Can't!

Sometime later, he doesn't know how long (it's been over two hours) Aziraphale is there, talking to him gently, trying to coax his claws out where they've bit into the flesh of his palm. There's blood on Aziraphale's face, how'd that get there? He tries to ask Aziraphale but he can't stop crying long enough to ask him to ask.

"Crowley, you're in Heaven. Remember? Calm down. Breathe. You're tearing up your hands."

The black blood stains his trousers and is stark against the white tile floor. When did he get dressed? His bracers cut into his shoulder and he realizes how tense he has been.

"That's it, breathe with me. Unclench your claws. You can put them away. They just want to talk to you.” Aziraphale gently heals up the cut flesh on his palms

Are these shackles really necessary?" Aziraphale purses his lips.

There's speaking again. It's not to him so he doesn't focus on it. The buzzing under his skin is still there, just less overwhelming. Talk. He can talk. _Right._ He thinks as he draws a shaky breath. Talk to Aziraphale's bosses. Keep breathing. _Stupid demon, stop panicking, you're not helping._

"You got blood all over your face." Aziraphale wipes at it with a clean cloth, startling him. Where did that come from?

He says numbly. "Talk."

"Yes, the archangel want to speak to you." Aziraphale wipes down each hand. "Can we get up? Sit at the table?"

Crowley's nails start growing at the thought of leaving the corner.

"No, we'll stay here. Keep breathing. You're alright."

Crowley stays in the corner with Aziraphale for as long as he can. But he can feel Gabriel growing irritated. Sit and talk. He can do this. He stands up carefully. “Talk.”

<~>

“Let's try this again.” Gabriel says as the door clicks closed behind Aziraphale. Crowley tries not to flinch at the tone. He told Aziraphale that he could handle this, and then he fell to bits right at the start of everything. He looks at the ground. He can't let this happen again, he needs to pull himself together.

“Sorry.”

“Hell told us you started preforming miracles again.” Micheal says. “It's what made us seek out Aziraphale. To warn him you were back.”

“Miracle.”

“Hm?”

“One... Made plant.”

“Why?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Thought... I remembered it.” Crowley shakes his head. “Was hard to do.”

“Yes, I'd imagine so if _This_ is all true.” He gestures at the file in front of him. “Do you know what this is?”

Crowley shakes his head no.

“It's notes. From what Aziraphale told us.”

“You look for lies.” Crowley says. Of course they are. He knows that.

“Indeed. So why don't you start talking.”

Crowley closes his eyes. He can do this. For Aziraphale. Fuck he doesn't want to. He focuses on keeping his nails round and human-like. “What... you want to know?”

“Everything. But let's start with why were you at the shop.”

Crowley sighs and woodenly starts to talk. “Humans did things... Aziraphale brought me to shop after...”

“I see, and yesterday?”

“Hell came.”

“And?”

“Fuck Hell." He curses with venom. They _knew_ and they left him there. Then they went and made it personal. If anyone from down below so much as **breathes** in Aziraphale's general direction, he will tear them apart.

"Interesting. Seeing as you attacked archangels yesterday at the shop." Gabriel is looking at him intensely. He can feel the gaze like it burns into his flesh and is simultaneously cold as ice

"Thought Hell." He explains and takes deep breath.

“And what, you're his guardian demon?”

“You threatened angel."

"Oh please.” She raises an eyebrow. “You can sense the difference between a demon and an angel."

Crowley raises his eyebrows in confusion. "You... can?" He tries to think back. Aziraphale feels like warmth and goodness. The archangels didn't feel like that in the shop. They don't feel like Aziraphale up here in Heaven. His core had been, and still is, screaming danger. How is he supposed to know the difference between danger from Heaven and danger from Hell?

“How long have you been living at the bookshop?” Gabriel asks him?

Crowley focuses on answering Gabriel and tries to think. “Warm. Cold... Warm again.”

“And how long have you known Aziraphale?”

“Garden of Eden... Wanted to talk.”

“And after that?”

“Ran into each other...a few times... Long time on Earth... Angel is strange... Strange is interesting.”

“What happened to your throat? Why's your voice like that?”

He shakes his head and bites nervously at his lip.

“This isn't a pick and choose. We ask questions and you answer them. Now what happened?”

Crowley digs his heels in. He hasn't even told this to Aziraphale. It's not fair that Heaven is going to drag it out of him.

Gabriel taps the table. “That's the first thing you've refused to tell us. Therefore, it's the thing I'm most interested in right now.”

“What happened to your throat?”

Crowley shakes his head harder.

“Tell us what happened!”

“No!” Crowley trembles. They're going to hurt him. That's what happens when he refuses. But he can't tell them, he can't!

“What happened?!”

“You tell us, or the next conversation we have with Aziraphale will end a lot more unpleasant for him.”

Crowley blinks back tears he doesn't want to feel in his eyes. They've got him and they know it. He's balance on the edge of a panic attack, a band stretched too thin.

“What do you think?” He slumps down in his seat. “Humans. Holy water.”

“Interesting. You know, that usually kills demons.”

“Lucky me.” Crowley says mirthlessly.

“Yes. Lucky you.” Micheal says.

“So then.” Gabriel drawls. “What's the deal with Aziraphale?”

Crowley shrugs. “He stopped them.”

“Yeah. And how _exactly_ does that get you here?”

Crowley shrugs again.“Don't know.”

“You know,” He taps on the table. “You're not being especially helpful right now.”

“Don't know how else to be.”

“Of course you don't demon.” Michael rolls her eyes and Crowley visibly shudders at the name. He swallows.

“Can barely use-” He wiggles his fingers. “Can't remember much.” Micheal and Gabriel trade looks and Crowley fights the urge to hide behind his wings. “Thought he came to kill me.” Crowley admits. “Don't know why he didn't.” Crowley fiddles with the bottom edge of the table. “Don't know why...” He forces his hands to still. He thinks about that a lot. Aziraphale saving him and wonders if it's really over.

“Tell us the truth.” Gabriel snaps his fingers in front of Crowley's face to get his attention.

“Is truth! I don't understand you angels. Weird.” His throat is sore and from so much talking.

“He said, tell us the truth.” Michael pounds on the table. “Now. I'm tired of listening to you talk in circles. Answer the question! Why are you with Aziraphale?” She flips open one of the file folders, and there's great big glossy Polaroids of the two of them. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing! Didn't do anything!” Crowley tries to get his breathing back under control. He can't. The noises jarred him past the point of no return. The band snapped and It's too loud in here. They're yelling and pointing at the pictures. The air is tense with anger. Crowley can't do it anymore. He stands knocking his chair to the ground and keeps moving until he can reach the corner again where he draws his black wings tightly around him as he sinks to the ground. Fuck! He can't even get through this for Aziraphale? “He didn't do anything!” _Pathetic. Stop it! stop it!_ He grabs his head and shakes. There are sounds coming from deep in his chest, a whine that's too high for humans to hear.

<~>

“Well that was enlightening. Not.” Gabriel writes down notes on the interview while it's still fresh in his mind. Yet another breakdown. Waste of time. “He said Aziraphale didn't do anything. That implies the demon _has_ been trying to do something. We need to find out what. Maybe Uriel will have more luck. He's too afraid of Micheal and me. Just when I think we're getting somewhere, he goes back to that corner and we have to wait a couple hours for him to calm down. Part of me is starting to wonder if he wants to be up here or if he's just particularly stubborn.”

“Crowley is scared.” Gabriel closes the report file “Scared is good, it means he has less mind to think up lies. But the demon is more than scared, he is too terrified to talk to us. Questioning him is taking so much longer than we planned. This needs a softer touch to get done.”

“Let me do it!” Sandalphon says. “I love acting. Plus, if he likes hanging around Aziraphale maybe my appearance will put him at ease. I can get him to talk, I'm sure.”

Gabriel shrugs, it's worth a try. “Sure, have at it. I'll let Uriel try her hand at questioning Aziraphale, see if any answers change.

<~>

The door swings open again. This time a shorter man walks in. Crowley thinks he has seen him come by the shop a time or two, but doesn't really know of him.

“Do you know who I am?”

Crowley shakes his head no.

“My name's Sandalphon. I work with Aziraphale. Not directly, but close enough.”

Crowley looks curiously over at him. This is distinctly not the yelling he's come to expect in Heaven and he tries to wrack his brain. Has he heard this name before? Has Aziraphale talked about him? Sandalphon's voice is soft and he looks unassuming. He doesn't remember hearing anything negative.

“Glass of water? No?” He pours them both a cup from the pitcher and sips from his.

Crowley is still curled up in the corner. He's terrified but also so tired. He wipes at his face and forces his wings back away, trying to pep himself up. He's being given another chance, he has to spin this right and make it work. He picks himself up off of the floor and slowly creeps back to his chair.

“Where's Zira?”

“Busy, but he's fine.”

Crowley itches to know more, but stays quiet.

“This last century hasn't been as quiet as you would think with you away.”

“Saw a war happened?”

“Wars, big ones.”

Crowley frowns at that. He hates wars. All the fighting and the killing. For what? Riches and glory? It all fades. It's not worth it. Wars are pain and suffering.

“Had own war.” He was a casualty of the cruelty of the human race.

“So I heard. Why not go back to Hell? Lick your wounds there?”

This makes the demon huff out a sarcastic sound. “No way. Bad.”

“And Aziraphale?”

“Protection.” He says at last. “You saw me...'ma mess...even if I could do it, ... get back down to Hell ... wouldn't last long.” Crowley shrugs. “Zira keeps demons ... and the humans away ... he's kind.” He sneers and then breaks down into a gagging, coughing fit, his throat deciding it's done. Sandalphon slides the glass of water out to him. Crowley shakes his head and forces his throat to behave. “'m fine.” He manages.

“You should drink. It's just water.”

“I'm fine.”

“Didn't Aziraphale tell you to listen to us? Listen to me. Drink.”

Crowley woodenly picks the glass up and drinks.

“See? Just water.”

Crowley gratefully drinks the water. His throat is killing him. How long has he been in here? There's really no way to tell time in this room. It's just white and bright and blank.

Sandalphon is picking through the file from earlier. Crowley finally works up the nerve to pick up the pile of photos. It's something to do in the silence. They're all out of order. Crowley sorts through them, laying them out correctly, trying to recall each associated memory. There's one of them on the garden wall. That one makes him pause, letting his hand hover over the picture. So long ago.

“What's that?”

Crowley glances up. Sandalphon is done with the folder and is watching him.

“Garden.” He remembers the story. Vaguely remembers bits and pieces from that day. Above all, he remembers the way Aziraphale smiled at him before he remembered he wasn't supposed to. “Job was over... Bored.. was a strange angel... Wanted to meet him, talk.”

“Is that what you did all this time? Talk?”

“Earth stays same... Sssix thousand yearsss.” Crowley shrugs. Humanity isn't boring, but they really don't need his help. They tempt themselves. Over and over. The same story plays out. “People die. Aziraphale... doesn't.” Crowley sets the pictures down. He remembers the day Aziraphale rescued him, how he had accepted his fate. Knew he was finally going to die, and then was allowed to live again. And these angels. They will stop at nothing to get the answers they want.

“How did those humans get you in the first place?”

Crowley's shoulders slump. “Long story. Zira got mad at me. We fought.” He inhales shakily. “I... was dumb. Messed up.” He'd been angry and wasn't paying proper attention.

“What did you fight about?”

“Wanted him to do a favor. He wouldn't.” Crowley sighs. “We fought. Then... Woke up in a cage.” He exhales. “There for a long time.”

“And what happened after Aziraphale showed up?”

Crowley fiddles with his cup. “Mostly he watches me.”

“Hm. What else?”

Crowley isn't sure how to put into words everything Aziraphale does. “Reads.” Crowley figures that's safe enough. “He's... nice?” The word doesn't burn his tongue, though it feels rather odd to say. Still there is no other way to describe the angel.

“If you were going to hurt Aziraphale, how would you do it?”

Crowley almost chokes on a laugh. “You think I could hurt angel?” He hadn't even been able to stop a group of humans. Besides the last thing he'd want to do is hurt Aziraphale. “Aziraphale stronger than me...”

“And if we let you go back to Earth? What will you do then?”

Crowley looks up at Sandalphon, making total eye contact for the first time. “Both know you won't.”

“Huh?”

“You and I... We know.... You can't let a demon go loose... You want to know if Angel's on your side still.”

“And in your opinion, is he?”

“Yes. He is.” Crowley swallows. “Here, aren't I?”

“You always do what Aziraphale says?”

He's never been excellent at following orders. “Try keep him happy.”

“Why?”

“Selfish.” Crowley admits. “He's all I have now.” Crowley looks down at the photos. How long has Aziraphale been the only being in the universe who cares about him?

<~>

And then they bring them together again. This looks like a break-room, as if Heaven would ever need one. There's a kettle boiling on one of the counters. It looks strange. A far more modern electric kettle than what the humans have. He doesn't see any wires or a power source. It's fascinating, and yet his attention is far more preoccupied with the fact that neither angel seems to be particularly put off by the situation. A moment ago, he was sitting alone in a white room, then he was shuffled off to here. Aziraphale is in the room, so of course he allows himself to be led into the room by Sandalphon.

Aziraphale is sitting at the table, listening to Gabriel. “We appreciate you coming in on such short notice.” The kettle whistles. “Tea?”

“Oh yes, that would be lovely.” Aziraphale says.

Crowley is left blinking, wondering what is going on. He takes a seat next to Aziraphale. What are they doing?

Gabriel sets two mugs down in front of the seated pair. He doesn't have one for himself. Nor does he sit. He watches them. Ah, this tidbit puts him back on even ground. It must be a test of some sort. Aziraphale doesn't seem to notice. Crowley picks up his mug, and he can feel it. Like a shot of whiskey, this tea has been laced with holy water. It must just be his cup, because Aziraphale still doesn't notice it.

Crowley carefully keeps a straight face, stirring in sugar like it's fine. Holy water. Heaven and holy water. It isn't fair. Why did he hand heaven the best tool to hurt him?

Aziraphale chatters politely next to him, to try and fill the silence.

"Oh, you haven't even touched your tea. Not to your liking?” Gabriel speaks over the angel.

They are looking at him. Oh no. He took too long. "Hot." He explains. "Letting cool."

“Oh, his mouth.” Aziraphale explains. “Hot things bother him.”

Crowley flushes. He's already weak in the archangels eyes. "It's fine." He lies. He braces himself. He knows this is going to hurt, but it's never killed him in the past. Plus his tongue is still pretty numb. Hopefully that will make it easier. Aziraphale is a terrible liar, and this is obviously a test for the angel. It's a necessary price he has to pay for their safety.

He drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this is a bit more Aziraphale centered, I don't think I've ever written Sandalphon before, and this will probably be the only time I ever write him. Sorry Sandy. Thanks everyone for their patience. Sorry there's no comfort yet, but now I get to devote a whole chapter to it?


	11. Out of the frying pan, into the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy water.. and after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I posted this last night. apparently I only hit preview. oops, let's hope I don't post this chapter twice like the last one. thanks everyone for letting me know about that!

It's not fine. He can't react too much. Aziraphale is a terrible liar, and this is obviously a test for the angel. He drains the cup in one go, knowing if he has to slowly sit and sip, his resolve will crumble. He sets the cup down gently. Gabriel studying him. Crowley thinks he hides the pain well enough. Kind of. It's hard to pretend that nothing is wrong when it's so much worse than he remembers. But he doesn't make any protests or do anything other than keep his face neutral and stare at the ground projecting docileness and obedience.

“Aziraphale, There's some paperwork for you to fill out before you go.” He says after a long moment. Gabriel clicks his fingers and there's actual paperwork. Of course there is. Heaven and Hell both have an almost human desire for paperwork. And there are stacks which Aziraphale reads through each line carefully before signing on the lines. Crowley hopes it doesn't take too long. Each second he's stuck pretending to be fine is torture, but it isn't like he can beg Aziraphale to leave. He has to hold it together in front of Aziraphale, or else the angel might do something stupid on account of him.

But finally Aziraphale puts his pen down. “Right then, Anything else? Crowley tries to keep the relief off his face. The angel will go back to London, and he doesn't have to hide his pain. He's already failed whatever test they threw at him, hence the holy water.

“We'll be in contact.”

“Till next time. Come on Crowley. Lets go home.”

Crowley blinks in surprise. Home? But... then what? Was the holy water a test of his compliance? Did he pass or are they giving them enough rope to see if they hang themselves with it? He looks at Gabriel and then stands, following Aziraphale.

Walking is hard. Every step is agony. He can't even let his mind go fuzzy to try not to feel this as much. He might slip. This is the most important performance of his life. It's not just him at stake, it's Aziraphale too. He does his best to keep pace with the angel.

He follows Aziraphale to the stairs, keeping his face carefully blank as ever. When they reach the stairs, he offers his arm to Aziraphale as the stairway door closes behind them. He doubts they're not being watched, but this simply looks like a polite gesture.

<~>

Aziraphale feels it the second they step out of Heaven and link arms, though Crowley carefully flashes their danger signal and keeps walking down the stairs beside Aziraphale. The angel keeps their pace casual, though he wants to snap them back to the shop, he trusts Crowley enough to follow his lead. It can't be that bad if Crowley can keep such a straight face. Can it?

<~>

As they get further and further along, it gets harder Crowley to hide. He's shaking with each step, and he can't keep up with Aziraphale's pace. He's sweating miserably and Aziraphale's hold on his elbow is the only thing keeping him anchored. Bastards upstairs kept his hat and glasses. It's too bright. Aziraphale seems to notice him struggle and seamlessly adjusts so he has a better grasp on Crowley. It allows him to stop focusing on walking and instead on holding it together.

Once they are back to the shop and the door to the upstairs flat closes safely behind them, Crowley allows himself to finally really give in to the pain. He curls in on himself. Crying, he remembers, always makes his throat hurt worse. It feels like there is lava in his guts and though he's not looking forward to it, he knows that he has to puke it up. Oh he always does hate that part. It burns again when it comes back up, but the long he lets it sit in his stomach, the more it rips through his guts.

<~>

“Crowley? Is it bad? How can I help?”

Crowley gestures vaguely at the nearest container to them, a large decorative vase. It's probably hundreds of years old, everything in this flat is, but right now, he doesn't care to ask what the demon wants it for. He grabs the vase and hands it to him. Just in time, because Crowley barely has a hold onto it before he starts vomiting copiously.

Oh goodness. It is colored bright red with blood and Crowley seems like he will never stop. It was one cup, how was there so much? How did he not notice? How? In Heaven everything had felt holy, he hadn't seen them torturing Crowley right under his nose. _You fool! Gabriel has never cared for drinking, let alone offered you tea_. He isn't British but the British manners had taken over, and now Crowley is suffering immensely for his mistake. Is it still a mistake when it's caused by him not paying attention? A grave oversight.

Crowley sinks down once it's over, tears leaking down his face, but looking slightly better. Aziraphale waves away the mess. "Oh no.” He wrings his hands. “I probably shouldn't have done that. They'll see.” Crowley had told him there was danger but he didn't think. Too late, it's done. He can't go back and change it.

He leads Crowley upstairs and guides him to the bed. “Oh, Crowley! Wait here, my dear boy, I'll be back."

He rummages through the room, trying to find all the supplies from Crowley's earliest days. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know they were going to use holy water.” He produces a small bowl of cool water, as well as a cup of it so Crowley can get the taste out of his mouth. He watches Crowley drink it, wincing a bit.

Aziraphale sets it to the side once it is empty and he pats a cool wet rag on Crowley's face and neck.

Crowley scoots over in the bed and pats the mattress beside him.

“Are you sure?”

Crowley drags him down until he is sitting in response and puts his head in Aziraphale's lap. He curls up against Aziraphale's lap and scrunches his face in pain.

“Can I touch your hair?” He asks as he shifts against the bed to get comfortable

Crowley nods, and Aziraphale runs his finger's through Crowley's hair. Crowley cries miserably, clutching his stomach.

“I'm very sorry. You always have protected me dear, and now you did it again too when I was supposed to be the one protecting you. Regardless of what they decide... "

Crowley reaches up to put a finger on Aziraphale's mouth to silence him and looks up miserably. _Don't make promises you can't keep_ his eyes seem to say

“Hopefully they'll leave us alone." Aziraphale says instead. "but as long as I am able, I will be by your side." He lost Crowley once before. Never again.

Crowley shakes and cries. Both in pain and relief. They let him go - for now. He does not know how much longer he'll be allowed to stay, but at least he gets this. For a while.

He's in too much pain to fall asleep, but- Aziraphale is warm next to him and brushes his hands soothingly through Crowley's hair. Eventually the tears do dry up.

Crowley nuzzles against Aziraphale's hand, trying to convey that it's alright. He's just glad they are safe right now. At least he hopes.

Crowley gestures to the nightstand where his journal is. He doesn't want to talk. His throat is on fire, his stomach too. Luckily Aziraphale understands and passes it to him.

{ It's alright, angel. }

“How can this possibly be alright?”

{ Not the first time. }

“Not the first time?!” Aziraphale cries in dismay.

{ Not even the worst. }

“Not the _worst?!”_

{ Wasn't pure holy water. }

Aziraphale gasps. “Your mouth. When I first rescued you...”

Crowley nods.

“That's why your throat hasn't been healing. It will take a long time for holy water damage to mend... And I let them do it to you again! I told you to listen to them!”

{ Don't feel guilty. I thought they might try something. }

“Why didn't you tell me or give me some sign before we were out of Heaven?” He shakes his head. “I didn't even notice anything till we were back on Earth!” A small sigh of apology. “Everything up there feels holy!”

{ Because they wanted to see if you'd stop me.} Crowley looks at him softly. {I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to act. It was a trap. }

“ _Oh_!" He frowns and his lips press tight together. "I'm so sorry. Was that the danger you were warning me about?”

Crowley nods. { Knew you'd do something. }

He sighs. “You went up there for me and the first thing I do is miracle the holy water away." They'll be paying attention to him now for sure.

{ Can't change that. Better figure out what to say when they come ask about it. }

"Can I at least do anything for you?”

{ Silly angel, you are doing something.}

"What do you need? "

Crowley bites his lip. { Don't go? The humans always left me on my own to deal with all the blood and stuff. I don't want to be alone. Please. }

"I'll be right here. How are you doing, really?"

{ Stomach hurts bloody awful. So does my throat. I forgot how bad it was, thought I could handle it. }

"I'm so sorry, my dear. They don't like me upstairs, therefore they must have decided to treat you with disdain. I didn't know they'd go so far. I _should_ have known." He feels so guilty

{ It hurts, but I'll live, always have. } He puts the journal off to the side and closes his eyes tightly. It's too much effort to think-write any longer. Aziraphale takes his hand and strokes it.

“You're so brave, my dear Crowley. I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.” He shifts on the bed until he can lay down beside the curled up mass that is his friend. Crowley unwraps himself long enough to grab one of Aziraphale's hands and put it back on his head. He holds on to the other.

“Understood.” He says as his fingertips begin to gently massage Crowley's scalp. Crowley squeezes his hand a couple times.

He would read to Crowley, but both his hands are occupied. Instead, he tells Crowley bits and pieces from books he's memorized. Poems he's read hundreds of thousands of times. Plays he watched. At some point during that, Crowley's breathing starts to get easier. His hand is slack, and his face is mushed against the bedsheet. Aziraphale talks even then. He promised he wasn't going anywhere, and there's no way he will leave Crowley's side, not now. When he can't think of any other writings, he describes meals he's had. He's had quite a few.

<~>

Crowley's breathing starts getting harsh again. His face is flushed. One of his pale hands digs at his shirt collar uselessly. Aziraphale leans over and feels the heat radiating off the demon. “You're burning up, my boy.”

Crowley flails around for a little bit, making signs with his hands. The angel blinks. Language has never been his strong point, that's always been Crowley's thing, but he's clearly trying to communicate, and Aziraphale doesn't understand. These aren't the signs that they've been using.

Crowley sighs wearily and grabs his journal.

_{ ice }_

“Oh! What for?”

{ Bath }

“Lukewarm is better for a fever.”

{ No. Demon. Cold } He closes his eyes again.

Aziraphale only has an icebox, so he sets the tap on the tub as cold as it will get. And then wills the water even colder. He's already used a miracle they know that he knows and is seeing to Crowley. What's one more miracle in the grand scheme of things? Square ice floats in the bath like he just popped several metal trays worth into the tub.

“Come on dear, let's get you out of those clothes. He undoes the suspenders and peels Crowley's shirt off, glad he isn't wearing a tie today. His undershirt is sticky with sweat. Then he undoes the sock garters and gingerly removes them too. He lets Crowley keep his pants, though he removes his trousers. “Into the bath.” He tries to rouse Crowley, who moans and curls up. He gingerly picks Crowley up off of the bed and towards the tub. He gingerly deposits him into the ice bath.

Some of his skin actually sizzles with the contact from the ice water. Aziraphale grabs the rag and dips it into the water, then pats at Crowley's face. He cracks an eye open and makes a sound that might be the angel's name.

“Yes, I'm here.”

The ice is melting. Aziraphale dips his fingers into the water and the ice firms up again, the temperature drops.

“I'm taking care of you. You're going to be alright.”

Crowley closes his eyes and sighs with relief. The cool water actually steams against his skin. Black scales pop up on the demon's spine and neck and his fingernails have started to grow and sharpen. Crowley probably doesn't notice, he's so far gone. Crowley sinks further into the water until it covers his head. Aziraphale pulls him back up in worry after a minute passes. “Crowley? I know you don't need to breathe, but are you alright? Can you give me a sign you're okay?"

Crowley manages to take one trembling hand and make the safe sign, then he drops his hand back in the water.

They stay there for at least an hour. He takes Crowley out of the bath once the ice stops melting and Crowley stops shaking. Some of the scales have faded, and the claws are gone, though now he can see the familiar scales on the bottoms of Crowley's feet have extended up his calves halfway. He dries Crowley off carefully. He still feels a bit hot to the touch, but very much better. “I'm going to take your wet pants, okay?”

Crowley nods and he starts to pull the wet underthings when he notices Crowley go very still and stop breathing. “I'm just changing you into some dry ones.” He moves quickly and carries a mostly non responsive Crowley back into the bedroom and lays him on the covers. Crowley's eyes look hazy and wide. He covers Crowley with a thin sheet, thin enough for the heat to escape, enough to make him feel less vulnerable.

“Crowley? Are you in there?” Aziraphale asks as he brushes his wet hair aside. He talks soothingly. "You're here, in the bookshop with me. You're not back there. no one will touch you like that again. You're alright."

Crowley lifts his hand up after a while searching, and peeks through one eye meeting Aziraphale's gaze. His journal is on the bed and he gestures towards it. The angel opens it to a blank page.

{ You are good. I know that. You help. Sorry. Memory. }

“Brave boy, I know you have so many ghosts haunting you. You're hurt. You don't have to explain that to me. I know it's not me that you're remembering.”

Crowley tears up. Why is Aziraphale so understanding?

“Can I ask how many times has this thing with the holy water happened?”

{ Five... no, six times now. }

Aziraphale inhales sharply, tears springing up in his eyes thinking of Crowley alone in that cage as Holy water works through his system. Five times. He'd been alone. “I'm sorry, I have to ask this so I know what to expect, what happened, after?

{ Time. Past the worst. It always took a long time. In the winter though, it was easier. Cold helps. } He breathes shakily as his hand hovers over the page.

{ The last time... it was bad. It was summer, and so very hot. They got frustrated with how long it was taking me to recover. They'd come down and laugh, spray me with the hose. But the cold water actually felt so good. They figured it out eventually, and then they just left me burning. }

Crowley shivers and pushes the journal away. He doesn't want to talk about this. He thought he was finally going to die. The pain had been that bad and all consuming. And then he didn't. The burning faded and new pains took it's place.

“Thank you for telling me that, dear boy. I know it was hard. You don't have to tell me anything else. Do you still want me to take care of you?"

Crowley nods firmly.

“Shall I fetch some books then? We're in the middle of reading some Charlotte Brontë, and you always did like the more humorous Shakespeare. We could start A Midsummer Night's Dream. You'll like that one. Does that sound alright to you?"

He gestures affirmatively and he lays back in bed. That sounds nice. Laying here and listening to Aziraphale to distract himself from the tingles working through him. He's not human, he doesn't have a digestive system, but he feels the holy water in his belly; that's where food goes after all. Eventually the pain will fade away entirely, and with each time, he looses some of his ability to talk, to taste, to smell.

But none of that matters right now. Aziraphale is here and taking care of him. He doesn't have to think about surviving for the next brutality. Not right now. In this moment, all he has to do is focus on the sound of Aziraphale's voice and pages turning. Forcing himself to communicate, it takes so much effort out of him, and he's so tired now. The pain makes him feel dazed. He closes his eyes and dozes in the haze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's experiences with trying to communicate while in pain is based off my experiences with deafness and chronic pain, needing to be able to sign or read my transcriber app while in lots of pain, esp after surgery.
> 
> Crowley really has come a long way. He trusts Aziraphale a lot.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new player emerges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I'm going to have a consistent word count for my chapters.

The nightmares wake him up. Crowley shoots up in bed in terror, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's making some awful noise, somewhere between a moan and a screech.

Aziraphale is by his side in an instant.

“We're in London, in the bookshop. You're safe.”

Crowley turns wide yellow eyes on Aziraphale.

“It was just a bad dream Crowley.”

No, they're not safe. Heaven could come for them at any second. He'd managed to escape from the humans once, but he doubted he could survive in Heaven for very long. Fear rolls off him. Why did he fall asleep? Stupid. They should have been using that time to try and protect themselves, or at least get stories straight.

Aziraphale sits on the far side of the bed, by his feet. “I'm right here Crowley, You're safe, no one is going to hurt you."

Of course they are, he's just a demon, he can't protect himself. A bit of holy water and he's ruined.

His mind goes a shooting off and he can't control it. He's breathing too fast, thinking of all the terrible things that the angels might do, and how his very presence is going to get Aziraphale in trouble.

“Shh, dear. I'm right here. I'll keep you safe.” Crowley looks at him, eyes wild.

“I will.” And then he's slammed in the chest as the demon sobs and clings to him. Aziraphale brings his wings to cover them and wraps his arms loosely around Crowley. Touch is such an odd thing. Sometimes Crowley is okay with it, sometimes he's not. Aziraphale always waits for him to initiate it.

“It's going to be okay. I'm not going anywhere.” Aziraphale rubs his back until the tears subside.

<~>

It's early morning, maybe 5 am. He hadn't managed to fall back asleep. The air in the backroom where he is sitting feels heavy and he can't stay still. He stands and paces. Aziraphale is making tea in the kitchen, of course. He is.

Crowley drops to the floor the second he feels the change in the air. Archangel. He does not have his glasses on. They are across the room lying on the table. Too far. He stops breathing when he hears Michael greet Aziraphale. She's here for him, he knows it. It's so early, surely they expected him to be sleeping. Easier removal.

"None of that, now." Michael says.

His eyes widen in terror. He does not know what he did wrong. Michael is going to hurt him. _Aziraphale,_ keep her focus off Aziraphale. Do what she says. Fear rolls off him. He's shaking from it, but can't stop. He doesn't know what she wants him to do. 

Michael folds her legs up and joins him on the floor. "I'm just here to talk." She says as she studies him. "You're still terrified, angels get that a lot from the humans, but then, they aren't used to seeing actual angels, let alone their true form. But you aren't scared of my form. You're scared of me."

"Of course he's scared of you.” Aziraphale crosses the room quickly and puts a hand on Crowley's shoulder to reassure him. “You hurt him." He frowns at her. "Holy water? Really?” He scowls. “Downright cruel-”

“It wasn't my idea!" She protests. 

"But you let them do it! I told Crowley he was safe with me and you all forced holy water on him! I _won't_ let you lot hurt him again."

“I'm sorry. This was wrong. I made a mistake, Heaven shouldn't rule like this.” She says raising her arms to placate him. “I know you probably don't want to see me, so I'll try to make this quick. Yesterday, there was something you weren't telling us Crowley.” She turns to him. “I need to know what it was.”

Crowley wishes she hadn't asked that. At least not in front of Aziraphale. But they're both looking at him. He sighs. "'ell." Crowley rasps.

Aziraphale frowns a little bit at him. "Crowley, I was going to deal with that. I told you."

Michael looks between the two of them. "I'm missing something here. What about Hell?”

“The other day, when the demon Hastur came here he had hellfire. Crowley was quite worried that I'd get hurt." Aziraphale explains.

"That's why you wanted to be in Heaven? To protect Aziraphale?"

Crowley signs and points up.

"What's he saying? I don't recognize a language."

"He says that I would be safe in Heaven." Aziraphale turns to Crowley. "I'm not leaving. Hastur will destroy the whole city just to hurt you. The malice coming off of him, almost as rank as the _smell_ of him."

“av to go.”

Michael looks aghast as he starts coughing and doesn't stop. There's blood on his fists but his body is refusing to believe he doesn't need air. He coughs so hard his head swims. Aziraphale is there with a glass of water and speaks to him soothingly until the fit passes. Aziraphale cleans him up with a hanky and dabs lightly at his face.

"Not enjoying seeing the results of what you did?" Aziraphale says to her mockingly as he folds up the bloody cloth.

"Aziraphale, it shouldn't have done this.” She says aghast. “Can I touch him?" She pauses, “Can I touch you Crowley?” She asks him. 

"Why?! If you hurt him again..." Aziraphale lets the threat linger.

"I won't." She assures them. “Just looking.”

Crowley stares at the ground. He finally slowly nods his head a fraction, grabbing Aziraphale's hand to try and stay calm. What is she doing?

She prods at his throat with a few fingers and he squeezes Aziraphale's hand tightly like a vise.

"Oh." She sounds like she's been punched in the stomach as she takes in all of the wounds that have built up. “There's so many scars. I didn't know they used it so much.” Michael's hands shake. “They; _we,_ tortured you. Unfairly. I'm so sorry." She pulls her hand back.

Crowley's head is ringing from being touched, being spread open for her eyes. He can hear Aziraphale splutter, and then fill with fury.

“You knew? And still you did it?!”

Crowley closes his eyes and tries to remind himself that just because Aziraphale is mad, doesn't mean he's mad at the him. 

“We were wrong.” She tells him. “We made ïmistakes. Let me try to make it right, please.”

Crowley hesitates, but after a long pause, he nods again, wondering what she'll do. She reaches her hands out again, one touching either side of his throat and Crowley tries not to automatically panic at the feeling. She isn't even doing anything yet, just touching him. He tries to focus on his breathing; tries to get it under control. Finally he opens his eyes. She's watching him.

“I'm going to start now, if that's okay?” She tells him, waiting until he nods to call on her powers.

It feels, warm and cold at the same time. The stinging eases until he can almost breathe again. Micheal closes her eyes and knits her brows together, and the stubborn layers start to peel away. She's sweating when she finally pulls away.

“Did you, is it-” Aziraphale asks.

“Not yet.” She shakes her head. “I'm sorry, It's going to be a long process, even with my powers. Raphael is the healer, but no one's heard from him in a very long time. But protection, that is my thing. Protection and safety. That should help some.”

Crowley touches his throat, it feels much better, still pained, but less raw agony. Less like he's trying to swallow broken glass. But it also feels exhausting, like he's worked every muscle in his body to the point of breaking, only on a higher plane. His very essence is exhausted. “Don't 'urt 'Zira.” He makes eye contact with her, pleading.

“We won't.”

“I...stay here?” He cocks his head, scared they'll take him away.

“Yes.” She reassures him. “Well, you'll at least stay with Aziraphale. The demon Hastur is another problem to deal with, and that's far more pressing. I'll need to talk to the archangels, a duke of hell threatening an angel, that can't be allowed to go unanswered. I'm hesitant to leave now though in case he comes back...The others are wary about having a demon roam free on Earth.”

“That didn't matter to them before.”

“Well, that was before you invited one to live with you. They want make sure they have safeguards in place for if things go wrong. Some type of power damper. “They wanted-”

“Insurance.” Aziraphale cuts her off.

“Well, yes.”

“You saw my report. The humans, they put those cuffs on him that bound his powers, chained him up, and put him in a cage drugged up for decades. And you're telling him that you want to do the same?” Aziraphale sounds furious on his behalf.

“No!” She says him. “I'm trying to find something that placates the other archangels while not hurting Crowley.”

“Since when do you care about him?!” Aziraphale snaps, but Crowley gives his hand a few quick squeezes. If they let him stay on Earth, even with his powers bound, he can help protect Aziraphale from Hell. He'll do this.

Crowley slowly rolls his wrists over and holds his arms out to her, showing her the scars on his wrists from the cuffs she looked at upstairs. “Blessed." He croaks out finally. "Bad."

“Anything else?”

“Not here.” Crowley points to the faint scar on his neck. “Tell?” He turns his eyes to Aziraphale pleading.

“They had a collar, chained to the floor.” Aziraphale explains. “It had a weak spell on it.”

“Back. Don't, please. Wings hurt.” It's so much more than pain. It's agony that never ends. Crowley doesn't even sleep on his back because the whip marks bother him so much, but he asks her not to hurt his wings which are so excruciating painful after they get injured, and they heal so slowly. And if this is only a temporary reprieve, he thinks it will break him to feel his wings burn another time.

“Crowley, It may take me a long time, but I promise you I'm going to heal all of these scars.”

Crowley blinks rapidly and looks at the floor. “Why?”

“Because it's the right thing to do.”

“Demon.” He whispers. “Deserve it. You didn't care up there.”

Aziraphale drops down beside him and takes both of Crowley's hands. “No. You absolutely didn't. You didn't deserve any of the things they did to you.”

Crowley trembles and breaks down sobbing. “Did. Demon bad." Crowley insists, "Angel good...Demon make,... angel bad."

“Crowley.” Aziraphale runs his hands through Crowley's hair as he cries. Then turns his glare on Micheal. “He was doing better until you all made him come to Heaven. Until you hurt him.”

“Aziraphale...”

“NO, we're done for right now. You need to leave us alone.”

“Listen.”

Aziraphale turns a furious glare on her. “If you had bothered to even check yesterday you would have seen, but you didn't did you? Instead, tried to intimidate him and you made him drink holy water. Don't think you helping fix the damage you created makes everything better. Get out.”

“Aziraphale, please." She stands.

“Leave, now.”

Once the door closes behind her, Aziraphale calls his wings out and wraps them around the demon, pulling Crowley close to his chest. “Shh, it's okay dear. You're okay Crowley, I won't let them hurt you again.” He rests his chin on Crowley's shoulder. “You're not bad Crowley. You are _very_ good. Always have been. Six thousand years we have been friends," He pulls his wings out. "and you haven't done anything bad to me. You're a good person, Crowley. I'm not just saying that. I believe it. You are good."

<~>

Crowley naps on the sofa in the backroom, still worn out from the events of this morning. Micheal knocks on the door frame looks just as tired.

“Can we talk, just the two of us?” She asks him. “Please.”

“Angel to angel?”

“Person to person.”

Aziraphale pulls a thick blanket over Crowley and fixes his messy red hair before heading to the kitchen.

<~>

Aziraphale makes them both a strong cup of tea and sets the mugs on the table before sitting down to hear what she has to say. “I apologize. I lost my head there for a bit. I shouldn't have yelled.”

“I think I'm the one who should be apologizing to you, not the other way around.”

“To Crowley.”

She looks at him.

“Crowley's the one who got hurt. He is talking to you because he knows that I trust you, and that he doesn't have any other options. Hastur really shook him, and then right after, Heaven showed up. He's afraid and removing me from the equation is one less worry for him. Never mind the fact that Hastur is going to make his death really messy and unpleasant."

“Hence why he wanted you to be in Heaven. What's the story with the demon Hastur?”

“I really don't know _why_ he hates Crowley so much. He just showed up out of the blue one day, and the next thing you know, there's Gabriel and Uriel, and we're being summoned to upstairs.”

“Well, I can explain some of that. Hell was the one who contacted us about Crowley. They were coming to alert you when they found this.”

Aziraphale sighs. "Micheal, it was bad. I didn't lie in my report. When I rescued him, it was absolutely awful. I didn't want to believe anyone could hurt others like that. And he was starting to get better, he really was. These past few months... He." Aziraphale's face crumples. "And now he's hyper focused on protecting me to the point of destroying himself. And I can't let that happen. I know that Gabriel would be thrilled to know that Crowley prioritizes my safety and will do anything to prevent harm to me, but the humans stole so much from him. I had to teach him how to even put away his wings. He is a snake for Heavens sake and he doesn't even know how to change.”

“And he's relying so much on instinct. I eventually showed him how to do miracles again. He was an angel once.” Aziraphale frowns. “That doesn't matter, not to me. I don't care he's a demon. He's a person too, and what happened to him was wrong.” He sighs. “I don't think he sees himself as a person. Not always. And especially not recently. He's been through so much. And breaking down like this? He very seldom allows himself to feel. Much less let others know what he feels.”

“If I were him, I'd be angry at everything. But he isn't. He likes the smell of books. He spent weeks getting comfortable enough to go outdoors to the park and feed the ducks. He is genuinely happy to learn new things. And he loves the stars. Lots of light pollution here, but he loves laying on the floor at night and looking out the skylight. He is not at all what I thought a demon would be like. He cares so much about everything.”

“Oh.” Micheal says. “You love him.”

Aziraphale tenses up and swivels to look at her.

“I don't think anyone else knows,” She says, “but they they didn't see the two of you earlier. They don't hear you talking right now. You love him. I feel it in your voice.”

“I do. So you can see why I'm protective of him.” Aziraphale start to gather his powers, prepared to defend himself if need be.

“I won't tell anyone.” She says as she feels the powers swirl around her.

“And how can I trust that?”

“Because I'll give you insurance of your own.” She swallows and adjusts her grip on the mug of tea. Not that she'd actually been drinking it, but it seemed rude to turn it down. “Do you know of the demon Ligur?”

“I know of him, he's a Duke of Hell.”

“I've worked with him, in the past. Sometimes we trade information.”

“You... you work with a demon and yet you used holy water on one?”

“It was diluted! Ligur had told me how much a demon could withstand, so I made sure it was weak enough that he'd survive it, but strong enough that the others wouldn't notice. I didn't know how much he'd already been hurt. I should have checked for myself. You were right. I went along with the others. None of us checked like we should have. We could see scars, we knew he'd been hurt, but we still did it.”

Crowley coughs weakly at the door, looking at them. He has his journal in hand and walks into the room to stand by the table, finally taking a seat by Aziraphale. He opens the journal up. “You...” his lips press together. { “How will you keep Aziraphale safe?” } Crowley crosses his arms.

“I have to discuss it with the other archangels to come up with a plan.”

{ Not good enough.} Crowley pushes his shades up and Aziraphale notices his hand shaking. Oh no. Crowley had another nightmare while he was in here. { Safe in Heaven. }

"I'd be alive, but do you know what it do to me to live in a world without you? Because that will happen if I leave. Hastur will kill you." He touches the back of Crowley's hand. "It's too high of a price to pay."

"Why do you both think that one of you has to die?" Michael says "What's an ideal solution? You both live." 

Crowley turns to her. { You have my attention. }

“If there was a way would you be willing to do it? To buy some time?”

Crowley stares at her. { Obviously. }

“I think we can come up with something that gets you away from hell that also satisfies the other archangels."

Crowley ponders it and scratches idly at his throat. { You think we can? }

She puts her hands flat on the table. “I do think so, Crowley.” She clears her throat. “Now, where would you like me to start healing now?”

Crowley thinks about it. Being able to talk again would be nice. Then again, so would laying on his back. Talking is more important, he decides. He points to his throat.

Micheal inhales sharply when she touches him, but soon enough he feels the cool presence from earlier wrap around him. She throws out ideas with Aziraphale as she works, Crowley closes his eyes as the healing miracles soothe over him. His nightmares feel more distant.

“Gabriel will want something that cuts off his powers.” Aziraphale frowns.

“We need to figure out something that's better than a total binding. We have to work out something that doesn't strip him of his healing powers, but makes him not a threat."

"How will he protect himself then?" Aziraphale frets.

"Well he will have _you._ "

"But if he doesn't?" Aziraphale asks knowing Crowley will want to know.

"Maybe if the two of you are separated, we can build something into it? Send him someplace? Not Heaven. Gabriel will for sure say that. Too risky."

"The stars." Aziraphale says. Crowley is always looking at the stars. It's fitting. And the demon isn't in much of a state to form a coherent request.

"Alright. I don't want to discuss it too much with you, lest they start to question if I've been compromised. But this is a good building point. I'll discuss it with them.”

"You two will need to relocate. Leave soon. I'll send everything from here to storage. Take anything you're attached to. I'm authorizing you to use whatever miracles and pocket dimensions you need for the move. Actually, make several. Give anyone from downstairs several false trails to follow. Make a few of them sloppy. You know the drill.”

Crowley feels the soothing balm fade. He opens his eyes slowly. Micheal looks worn out. Healing takes a lot out of both of them and this is the second time today. “'Anks.” He looks down at the ground, then forces himself to look up, to meet her eyes and hold them, if only for a few moments, trying to express his gratitude through his face.

Micheal gives him a small smile and pulls something out of her pocket, tapping on it.

Crowley looks at the device with interest. "Wha?"

"It's a mobile. A telephone. It'll be another 50 years till the humans get to making these ones. It's kind of like your book. It lets me talk to the other archangels too. I'm just keeping them updated.”

Crowley sits back against Aziraphale. He wants another nap now. Micheal could probably use one too. After all that healing.

"They will expect us to go someplace warmer. Tropical maybe." Aziraphale sends him a look and Crowley knows he's not going to like what comes next. "So we should do the opposite. Someplace cold blooded creatures are not found in."

Crowley grimaces but the angel has a point. Fuck he want a nap. But he also doesn't want to leave Aziraphale with all the work.

“Good. Do that. Quickly. Without making it too obvious to anyone watching the bookshop that you're going to be gone for a while.”

More plans are discussed, and then she is gone. Aziraphale guides him up to the bedroom and lets him sleep on the bed as he packs up the more important stuff, then gathers Crowley's things, making sure to take the plant. Then he starts laying down false trails for hell to track. This part, while energy consuming, is fun. It's like playing chess, teleporting things all over the place.

And then Aziraphale wakes him and dresses him in a dark outfit and they slip away out of the back door in the dark and start their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archangel Micheal. She's probably my favorite of the archangels, but again, I've never written her, so I hope I didn't make her too out of character. "Archangel Michael is the archangel of strength, courage, and protection." Which is why I think she'd be the archangel most likely to help our pair. So now that they have someone in their corner, can they catch a break?


	13. safe house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale make it away from London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sleep deprived and been dealing with what's now been the longest depression spiral I've ever had, so thank you all for your kind words, they keep me writing!

The safe-house looks perfectly normal from outside. Aziraphale checks the inside of the house before asking Crowley to remain inside while he does muffling spells to the outside of the house. Crowley hadn't thought of that. Using human magic instead of actual miracles. It's one more layer of padding between them and Hell.

After that is done then they sort about the inside of the house. There's not much. It's rather small. It's barely more than any one room hovel he's ever lived in. Aziraphale rifles through his pocket dimensions. He knows he needs to space out anything he does so as not to send out too much energy into the universe that can be used to track them down. Blankets, he decides, are the first thing he will unpack. Back at the bookshop, he dressed Crowley in his absolute warmest clothes, making sure they were dark and less likely to stand out against the night. So the demon at least has a thick layer of protection against the cold. But the house is chilly from being empty and the redhead has started shivering again.

“Here, get in bed. You'll feel better if you get under all the blankets until the house has a chance to warm up.”

Crowley climbs into the bed and Aziraphale drapes blankets on him. Crowley gently grabs his wrist and motions at the other side of the bed.

“I shouldn't.” But he sits down. Crowley pushes him back till he is laying down, then covers Aziraphale's eyes with his hand. “Angel tired too.”

“I shouldn't rest.” He pulls on Crowley's wrist lightly. “I have to keep an eye out.”

“Sleep.” Crowley shakes his head. “You sleep now... I watch.”

Aziraphale says, “I suppose the wards and protection spells were rather draining on me. And it should be safe. But only for a couple hours.”

Crowley looks appeased with that, and lays back against his own pillow in the nest of blankets keeping his eye on Aziraphale until the sky starts to lighten. Then he shakes him awake and they get dressed for the day. Crowley pulls the thick black jumper back on. It's one of his favorites. It clearly used to be the angels, though Aziraphale had changed the color of it. It's large on him, but he likes that. He feels safe in it.

<~>

There's a knock on the door. Crowley goes wide eyed. He doesn't feel anything on the other side of the doorway. Nothing at all. That makes him incredibly nervous. Hell probably wouldn't knock though. Aziraphale ushers Crowley behind him as he stands. They trade glances, slowly advancing to the door. Aziraphale opens it cautiously. Then blinks. It certainly does not feel like the archangel Michael is here.

She may not be.

"Biscuits? To welcome you to the neighborhood? I brought ginger snaps."

The code word. Aziraphale relaxes a bit. "Won't you come in and have a cuppa? It's chilly this morning."

Michael waits till the door is shut before setting the plate down, looking around the room. The curtains are all drawn tight. and closes her eyes as she touches the door. "Good wards. I'll make them stronger. She boosts them muffling their occult and ethereal energies.

“Won't you have a seat?” Aziraphale gestures at the table and sets the tea kettle on to boil.

Micheal makes a face. “Goodness, is that a coal burning stove? What is this, the dark ages?”

“You wanted us to relocate in the middle of the night someplace that people wouldn't see us and use as few miracles as possible to not leave a trail. When circumstances deem it, one must make do.”

Crowley inches closer to the stove. If they're not in danger, then there's not much sense in freezing.

Aziraphale bustles around the room, putting the tea together and sits down at the table. Crowley does NOT want to drink, but holding a hot mug sounds nice. He settles for fidgeting idly with a brick of coal as waits and he listens.

"Do you come with news from above?" Aziraphale asks.

"Yes. They've decided on a course of action. Everything is ready. Officially, Crowley will be under your watch, a charge of a sort."

"Captive." Crowley pipes up.

Aziraphale freezes. "That's only on paper Crowley, you know how I feel. What I said on the first day still stands"

Crowley shakes his head. "Hell." Being a prisoner is better than a traitor. "Sound better.” He bites his lip. “Hastur. Arches." He shivers, wishing he could climb in the stove. He knew why the two of them were here, but it was unpleasant.

"No."

Crowley looks at him.

"You are under my _protection_. Heaven, Hell and Humanity have hurt you enough. I won't hurt you too.” He says gently. “Let Hastur and anyone else try to do something as _Stupid_ as to try to harm you.” He touches Crowley's hand. “We came here to buy us time. To come up with a plan.” He holds Crowley's eyes. “And we _will._ "

The kettle whistles and Aziraphale removes it from the heat.

"Getting everyone to come to an agreement took most of the night. Gabriel thinks that Crowley is potentially useful. Uriel thinks we're playing with fire. Sandalphon is on the fence, but is pretty sure Crowley is mostly harmless."

Crowley chokes out a laugh at that.

Both of them swivel their heads to look at him and he flusters, pulling on the sleeve of his thick jumper. "My boss... said same thing." He explains. Actually, Hastur bitched and moaned, but the phrase 'mostly harmless' had gotten tossed at him at least once. So what if his last few reports had been rather lacking dastardly deeds and full of mischief.

“And you, what do you think Micheal?” Aziraphale looks to her.

"A trial period was agreed upon.” She ignores the question. “There will be a close watch on which powers you try to use Crowley, and your activities."

"Course." He had expected that.

"Your miracles too, Aziraphale." She faces him.

"Why?" Crowley pipes up. "Angel _Good._ "

"Because they want to knows if I'm compromised." Aziraphale says plainly. "I'm not, which they will see."

"And we also need to see if you can balance Crowley and your work. Another angel is being sent to help out on Earth."

It is Aziraphale's turn to let out a dry chuckle as he crosses his arms. "I'm being replaced, I see."

The brick in Crowley's hand bursts into flame and Crowley looks down at it in surprise.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale and Micheal move at the same time to extinguish it, and Aziraphale pulls his hands into the sink to wash away the coal dust and soothe the burn. The redness fades quickly. Aziraphale looks down at the clean flesh. The fire hadn't really hurt him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He looks wide eyed. “Fire...How?!”

“Miracles respond to emotions.” Micheal notes. “You were upset. You didn't get upset in Heaven, not on your own behalf.”

“Zira good.” The idea that he might lose his job because of Crowley makes him feel sick. Aziraphale dries the demon's hand carefully. “He's loyal.”

"The Great plan... If doesn't stop because of this. Aziraphale has done this job for almost six thousand years."

"Six thousand,” Aziraphale looks upset as the implication hits him.“That's why Gabriel wants him.”

“Don't think of it as being replaced so much as you're being re-assigned. Let someone else take charge of Earth. You'll advise them, but your primary duty will be watching over Crowley. You _have_ been telling us about his wiles for ages. Officially, it's best not to get distracted when time is getting short.”

“Distracted.” Aziraphale strains the tea leaves and pours them each a mug, coming back to the table. Micheal holds onto her cup awkwardly, Crowley feels the warmth sink into his hands. Aziraphale is the only one that actually drinks the tea.

"Deal with Hastur first. The war, it's almost 60 or 70 years away."

Crowley touches the side of his neck with one hand, where he can feel the imprint of the side of the collar cut into his skin. “Trial period?”

“Observations. Restrictions.”

Crowley nods. To protect Aziraphale, long term, this is what he needs to do. “How?” _Cold metal burning into him._ He forces his fingers away from his neck and wraps his hands around the mug.

“No physical restraints. It will be like the mark on your cheek. Two of them.” She turns her wrist over and holds her hand up. “Here. They will look like tattoos, to the humans, though from what I understand, the palms are not a usual place for the humans to get them, but it shouldn't stand out too much. These will muffle your presence outwardly. You will still be you, but your powers are limited unless you make an effort to do something. The brands will allow you to do miracles, but with limitations.”

“What limitations?” Aziraphale asks before he can.

“Nothing that will causes direct harm. Also affects the size of the miracle. You'll be able to do small things, Crowley, but nothing major. Healing will be a slower process, but not impossible... It took ages to get them to agree to that much.”

Crowley nods. Being allowed to keep some of his powers is more than he expected. It doesn't sound too bad to him. Not after everything.

“The other archangels will be here later. We will touch your hands and create them.” She tells Crowley. “It will be two parts, one on each hand. The first to limit your powers, the other to bind you to Aziraphale. If the two of you are separated by miracle, such as a summoning, it will encase you in a protective bubble and transport you instead to a predetermined location. You'll be unable to interact with anything, but nothing will be able to interact with you, either until Aziraphale releases you.” She looks to Aziraphale. "Any more questions?"

“What is the location?”

“I won't speak it, in case someone listens.”

“Then how will I find him?”

“The second mark, you both will get one. It will guide you to him. It can also be used in closer range, Aziraphale, you'll always be able to locate Crowley.”

“Crowley, your thoughts?"

"Arches only touch?"

"Yes."

Crowley thinks. "Will marks hurt?"

“Theoretically, they shouldn't. It's like a shield around you, that prevents your powers from acting not, something that's tearing away at your core.

"Muffling. Hell sense me?"

"Only if they are extremely close. That was an obvious point. Hell tracking you would lead them to Aziraphale. Which brings me to my next point. Aziraphale, we will be giving you a weapon; something that you can use to defend yourself against Hell. Try not to give this one away this time." She looks amused. “I'll be acting as the go between between the two of you and everyone else. We can work out all the finer details later.”

“When will they do this?”

“Soon, very soon.” She stands up. “Crowley, It's very important that nothing like the coal incident happens in front of the other archangels, they are already wary of you.”

“Best behavior.” Crowley plays with the jumper sleeves again. He has to stay calm.

“I'll be right here beside you.” Aziraphale promises.

“I will go to Heaven then, and let them know it's time.”

Crowley nods, and she leaves.

“Will you be okay?” Aziraphale asks him.

Crowley shrugs. “Suppose.” He is a mass of nerves. This is his last chance to keep everyone satisfied. Well, everyone but Hell. He's a little frightened. He knows that Aziraphale is right here and that this is the safest option, they have a blessed archangel backing them up as long as he can get through this one process without being dramatic. Rational thoughts do not happen when he is terrified and having so many archangels touching him sounds terrifying.

“Can I wear my glasses?” Crowley asks like he's scared to be told no.

“Of course you can dear boy.” He says softly and picks up Crowley's glasses, handing them to him. Not a moment to soon. There are archangels in the houses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah. Did I really think there was only a couple more chapters left in this? my WIP Folder for this AU has 8 documents still, and that's just the main events. Thanks everyone for sticking around so long! There's more softness to come, this chapter was mainly setting up for the next chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archangels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A surprisingly low drama meeting with the archangel crew

Crowley snaps his head down, staring at the tabletop. At least he didn't throw himself to their feet this time, if only because Michael had given them the heads up that it was happening.

 _Keep it together you stupid snake._ He tries to remember to breathe.

Aziraphale greets them, but they're rather focused.

“Could you come here, Crowley?” Aziraphale calls after a moment.

It's go time. He stands up and makes his way to them, stopping where Aziraphale is gesturing.

“Show us your hands, palm up.”

Crowley rolls up his sleeves and complies, extending his hands out.

The archangels gather around him, and only Aziraphale's presence nearby and the earlier conversation is keeping him from running away screaming. But the process itself relatively simple. Like Michael promised, it does not hurt. The archangels reach out to him, Sandalphon and Uriel do the tracking spell. Gabriel and Micheal touch his left hand and begin the spell that limits his powers. Crowley watches with a detached sort of interest.

The air shimmers with miraculous power. The marks appears on his palms close to the center of his hands. Both are slightly larger than a shilling. Their color is indeed like a tattoo, plain black, though the lines are incredibly fine. Aziraphale's thumb is cut into and he's directed to leave his bloody thumbprint on the left the mark.

Then the angels give Aziraphale one. This time there is no blood. His is larger, almost double the size of Crowley's and is also in the center of his left palm. Then they explain to Aziraphale how to use it. He listens to them carefully.

<~>

"Give him an order. We need to test it to see if it work.” Gabriel says.

“Right, do what he says.”

“Crowley. ...”

Crowley looks up from studying his own hands to see everyone staring at him. Oops, what did he miss?

“Sorry?”

“Crowley, make something.”

Crowley frowns. Make something? He's barely even figured out how to do it in the first place, and he'd had help. Now everyone is staring at him expectantly, he feels like he's wrong footed.

“Uh.” He tries to feel around himself, to do anything. He inhales. Right. How'd he do this last time? Webs. Where are they? He stands there for several awkward moments, doing nothing. "Not sure I can..." He finally admits, trying to hide his flustered state.

“Your book!” Aziraphale lights up. "You were able to gesture and write way back early on. There's nothing special about that book. It's just ordinary paper. But it worked because I told you it would, so it did. Crowley, you have always been able to influence reality just by expecting things to happen. So,” he puts down an empty notebook. "Do that. A minor use of power and no direct harm. Simple."

{ What should I write then? }

Aziraphale beams. "Jolly good. Now then, create.."

Crowley flicks his eyes nervously { Was serious about THAT. Don't think I can. }

"Crowley, try." He glances around the room. “Ah.” he picks up a newspaper. It's easier to change something than pull things out of thin air. He rips it in two “Fix this.”

Crowley closes his eyes and tries to focus. He does not feel the silky threads. He sways a bit on his feet. Aziraphale told him to try. “Can I touch it?" He asks hesitantly. Aziraphale holds the two bits newspaper out to him. Crowley holds onto the side. He can almost feel those webs, but they are slippery, he can't get a good grasp. He tries harder.

"Enough." Aziraphale says suddenly and Crowley blinks his eyes open, feels blood trickling out of his nose.

“Feel something? Slippery."

Aziraphale knocks his teacup over suddenly, Crowley barely has time to process it splashing all over the table and falling to the floor before he reacts his hand shooting out, as the teacup lands, shattering on the floor. None of the tea spills over the edge of the table onto Aziraphale's lap. Crowley picks up the mug off the floor. Aziraphale brought this mug from the bookshop. He loves it. And it's ruined. And then it isn't. He sets it carefully on the table with shaking hands.

“Clean spill? " Crowley slurs.

"No. Sit." Aziraphale directs him to the settee.

Crowley does, gratefully slumping down and tunes out the conversation, already feeling himself drift away. Aziraphale makes a concerned noise and Crowley manages to crack open one eye. "s' fine. Tired."

Aziraphale turns to the archangels.

“He's not a threat to us. I keep telling you guys. And there's lots information about Hell locked away in his head, but he has to be able to trust me. I've been doing this my way. The demon Hastur is a problem, but Crowley knows all of his weaknesses. Insider knowledge, that you want that during the war. What I am doing is working. He doesn't do larger miracles because I am here to do them instead.”

“Look at him, he's exhausted just from doing a small mid level miracle. He used to do hundreds of them a day, you have nothing to worry about. He couldn't hurt me if he wanted to. And he knows that. But he doesn't want to. He cares about me, simply because I don't try to hurt him. My way of doing things works. When the great plan comes to fruit, his knowledge of Hell will be invaluable. Surely you know this too, or none of you would risk this.”

“That _is_ true. Your work here on Earth has been important, and your opinions have some weight. We're taking a big risk by doing this Aziraphale, so you'd better not be wrong.” Gabriel says.

“I'm not. So long as we keep him from Hell's claws, he'll listen to me.”

“About that...”

<~>

Heaven is pleased with the brands and they finally leave. Aziraphale start to fret, hovering over him. He extends a hand.

Crowley shakes his head and pulls away. “Don't Angel.” He says quietly. “Might be another test.”

He sighs. “They want me to try and take them off.” Aziraphale pauses at that. Micheal had been sincere, but that would be something Gabriel would do. “Crowley, please be honest with me. Does it hurt?”

“Kind of... itches a bit? Tingle-y?” Crowley shrugs. “They're better at this than the humans were.” He yawns.

“Oh, but there has to be something I can do!” Aziraphale says, tears clouding his vision. “Heaven is supposed to be better. You don't deserve this.”

“It's not as bad as before, at least now, You're here.” Crowley glances up.

“Crowley...”

“Still have powers remember. Just no miracles that can be used to harm others.” Crowley wipes away Aziraphale's tears with the back of his hand and meets his eyes. “Don't cry, Angel. Not so bad. 's okay now. Really.” He shifts on the settee. “Wouldn't lie to you.” He's asleep by the time he finishes talking.

Aziraphale pulls one of the blankets off the bed and covers him with it.

<~>

Crowley sits up, blinking his way to consciousness. It must be late afternoon. He's in the bed. He makes a noise of confusion. “Hrm?” He manages eloquently. He tries to re-orient himself.

“It was awful cramped on the Settee. I moved you to bed two days ago.” Aziraphale sips from a mug of tea.

Crowley wrinkles his brow and pulls one of the blankets around himself as he sits up. "Sorry.." He scrubs at his face "Two days?"

“Actually, you've been asleep for four days.”

Crowley stares at him. "Four?"

"Well, you've hardly gotten any decent sleep for a while, traipsing over the world and then the businesses with the archangels, and you pushed yourself quite hard with those miracles.” He wrings his hands together. “And I didn't want to move you till you were awake, but you were really uncomfortable and cold. Will you let me look at the marks now?”

"Mugh? You haven't yet?"

"Well, of course not. You were sleeping."

Crowley makes another funny noise."Show you mine... if you show me yours."

"Pardon?"

"Your hand."

"Oh, of course." Aziraphale flips his hand over and holds it out to Crowley.

Crowley studies his palm tracing over it with his eyes. "You feel any different?"

“Not particularly.”

Crowley holds his own hands out. The “muzzle” on the right, the left, his link with Aziraphale; his security.

The marks are barely wider than a thumbprint Aziraphale drags his hand across the left one and it turns gold. Crowley almost convulses with a gasp. "Intense." He manages once he's collected himself.

“Painful?”

“No. Just a lot.”

Aziraphale looks at the other. “This one, how does it feel, truly?”

It is like being under a blanket, but there's no edge. “Heavy?” He lays back down. “Doesn't hurt.” He traces his wrist. “Not like these.”

“Micheal came by yesterday.” Aziraphale tells him. “You were still asleep though.”

Crowley looks down at the bed. “Thank you ... letting me sleep.” _They_ wouldn't have let him. He would have been punished for the inconvenience he'd caused by making them wake him up.

“Of course, you must have needed it. Four days!”

“How sword?” Crowley asks politely.

Aziraphale touches the rift he'd stashed it in. “Feels a lot like my old one. No flames though."

The sleeves of his oversized jumper cover the marks on his palms when he stands up. “Hungry.” He says after a moment and pads over to the small kitchen.

“I'll make you breakfast then. Better eat up, dear boy, we've another day of travel ahead of us.”

“ghhh?”

“Well, Micheal wants us to move. In cases the powers used alert anyone. I didn't want to go till you were awake.”

Crowley makes a distressed noise. “Should woke me... Sorry.”

“You're fine, dear boy, it's just a precaution.”

Crowley crosses back to the bed and flops down, throwing his arm across his face. Ugh, he really was pathetic in front of the archangels, and now this.

Aziraphale makes a noise and sits on the edge of the bed. “Crowley, I don't think it was an intentional thing, but when they bound us together, I do feel a lot of what you're feeling. Micheal said she'd teach you how to put up some mental barriers when I brought it up. But till then, I feel rather invasive feeling your feelings. I've always trusted you to choose what you share with me, and now it's like that choice has been taken away.”

Crowley peeks under his elbow.

“I... I think you're incredibly brave. Resilient, and courageous. I wish none of this had happened, that you hadn't been hurt in the first place, or put in this position. But I can't change the past.

Crowley lets his arm fall away. His emotions are mixed, but Aziraphale sounds upset, and he can't let that stand. Crowley wiggles awkwardly until he's able to put his head on Aziraphale's lap and tries to project comfort.

Aziraphale inhales and runs one of his hands through Crowley's hair. “There I go again. Getting comforted by you when it really should be the other way around. Do you know how incredible you are Crowley?”

“Not!”

“Oh, you really are.” Aziraphale traces along his face. “Now then, what would you say to some food? We have eggs!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a fair bit last night for the last chapter and then read over it this morning and decided /that/ is NOT the way I want to end this. That would require a whole sequel to tie up everything. So now I'm asking you guys, what would you prefer to see this end like? in the past I've written both smut and Ace!Omens and plenty of in-between. Clearly, it will end with lots of love and softness between them, but do y'all want more?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel, a demon and an archangel try to stay hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soft. these two.

They make it to the next house. This one has heating and actual rooms, though it's still smaller than what they're used to. “cozy”, Aziraphale describes it. The angel again insists on doing things to hide their presence. And then both of them fall into bed, exhausted.

The next few days are spent split between trying to make sure they are well warded, and at the same time, keeping their heads down. Crowley is glad for the rest. Well, he rests while Aziraphale works. He feels guilty about that, and apparently, his feelings are broadcast over the link because Aziraphale is extra angel-y when he's not putting all of his attention into the magic. Crowley doesn't know how else to describe it. Gentle? Kind? Caring? Soft?

<~>

Several quiet days later, Micheal finds them in the bedroom. Crowley is watching over Aziraphale. He's been alternating holding onto his journal and feeling guilty. Crowley is pale and his eyes are red rimmed. He's sitting on the side of the bed closest to the door, Aziraphale is under the blanket beside him.

The archangel carries a small medallion that allows her through the wards. He felt it when she entered the house, but didn't want to leave Aziraphale. He looks up as she steps into the room. She looks over them. Crowley gets the sense that she's displeased Aziraphale is sleeping, and Crowley jumps to defend him.

"Feel bad." He explains pointing at himself. "Angel tired. Did too much.” Crowley worries at his his lip. “Protecting me.” Crowley's brows furrow. “Why, for a demon?" He asks.

Michael's eyes soften as she looks at him. "Would you be this upset about any other angel protecting you?"

"He's special." Crowley adjusts the blanket around his sleeping form without looking up.

"Why does he do all of this for a demon?” She draws closer. “It's because it's you.”

Crowley glances up.

“He cares about you... a lot."

Crowley inhales shakily. "Me too. Care too." Crowley smooths out the curls that are wild on the pillows and smiles fondly when Aziraphale shifts in his sleep towards his hand.

"I'm glad to hear that, Crowley."

Crowley pauses and looks at her. "You help me... But, Angel scared of Heaven.... Of you all.” He meets Micheal's eyes. “Where's his help?"

Michael looks upset. "Historically, I know that Aziraphale has been nervous around us."

"Not nervous. Terrified. Always!" Crowley puts his hands carefully on Aziraphale when he shifts and stirs. He lowers his voice, soothing him back to sleep. He hadn't meant to yell. "Heaven needs to do better." He looks at her. "Be better."

"We will. I've ignored small things for so long that I didn't notice how bad it had gotten. But I'm starting to see. Things will change, I assure you."

"Good." Crowley deflates. "Sorry. Always angry now."

"That anger is justified. I needed a slap in the face to wake up."

"Angel says feeling is good." He sighs. " Tired of Scared."

"And you still confronted me for Aziraphale." She notes. "That's brave."

Crowley shrugs and makes a non committal sound. He doesn't feel brave. Everyone keeps saying that about him, but he doesn't _feel_ it.

“Does he know how you feel?”

“He must." He shrugs again. "Angel, link.”

“He needs to hear it from you." Micheal says. "Heaven condemned you. You fell. And you endured the worst of humanity. Hell abandoned you. But Aziraphale stands by your side. He deserves to actually hear it, straight from you.”

Crowley chews on his thumb. “Link. I make him tired.” He shifts. “My moods are loud.”

“That was an unintentional effect.” She says. “It was just supposed to be an anchor from your soul to Aziraphale's. But it's turned out, far closer to an old Soul Bond.”

He makes a noise of confusion.

“A very long time ago, mates used 'bond' or mix their souls together. Kind of like the human's marriage, but on a far deeper level. Some mates had links so strong, they could communicate without speaking, and share their emotions.”

“Mates?!” Crowley sits up straight, flustered.

“The two of you must have quite the strong relationship.” She muses.

“We not.” Crowley tries not to panic. “Not relationship!”

Micheal smiles sadly. “Do you know why we stopped bonding in the first place?”

Crowley shakes his head.

“It was the Fall.”

“Don't remember Bonds?” Crowley looks at her in confusion.

“Almost no one does. Too many angels felt their bonded partner fall, experienced their pains. God took away the soul bonds, and erased them from many memories. She didn't want to watch people be torn away from each other again.”

Crowley holds out his palm. “Then why do this?”

“Well, we attempted to do something similar to what she did. But what the two of you describe, it's far closer to a Soul Bond.”

Crowley drops his hand. He's a demon, look at him, making a mockery of something she took away from her children, like he always does.

Aziraphale groans in his sleep and Crowley soothes him.

“Loud.” He frowns at himself.

She steps away from the bed. “You and I, we'll work on that, the projecting.” She sighs. “I don't know what you were thinking, just then, but I do think you should discuss it with Aziraphale when he wakes.”

Crowley taps his fingers along the blanket. What if it changes everything? What if he can't be what Aziraphale deserves?

“I will say this, the kind of bond between you two only happens with _Her_ approval. If this happened, it's because she had a plan.”

Crowley turns that over in his head. “Ineffable.” He scoffs. Aziraphale will be thrilled to hear that at least.

“Indeed. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. And hopefully I'll be able to catch you both awake."

<~>

Crowley has been sitting, watching. Waiting. Thinking about what Michael said.

“Goodness, did you sit there all night?”

Crowley taps his head. "Was thinking. You risk so much for me. Is it obligation?"

"Of course not.” Aziraphale assures him. “You are my _Best_ friend."

"You say," he hesitates. "You're _good_ to me. Don't deserve it."

"You do!"

Crowley closes his eyes "You make me feel... like I'm more... Better.” He swallows. “Don't judge me for Falling."

"I would never.” Aziraphale slices through the air with his hand. “Not truly.” He sighs. I know I have denied any time you tried to reach out to me in the past. But living without you, in total silence was terrible. I thought I pushed you away for good! And then to find out all those years, they were hurting you.”

He looks at Crowley. “But you trusted me, and I watched you becoming the protective, soft, gentle being you've always been and I realized that I would fight heaven and hell to keep you safe."

"I love you." Crowley breathes, and then says it louder. "I love you. So much."

Aziraphale looks blown over.

"I think I always have.” He tightens his arms around himself self consciously. “You don't have to say anything, I just wanted you to know." He inclines his head. “Micheal came.”

“I know. I smelled her perfume.” He smiles. “You love me?”

“Silly angel, of course!” Crowley blushes and looks away.

Aziraphale jumps out of bed and crosses the room to take Crowley's hands into his own. "I love you so dearly, I could burst with it. You make me extremely happy, and I am grateful for your trust my beloved."

“Ngk.” Crowley is pretty sure his brain is melting. “Angel, wait.” He takes a deep breath.

“Oh, whatever you're about to say, you are worried about how I'll react to it.” Aziraphale inhales. “Sorry. That came through very strongly.”

“About that... Micheal thinks we have a _Bond.”_ He clears his throat. “Do you know Soul Bonds?”

“I've heard rumors, but I didn't know it was an actual thing.” Aziraphale blinks. “Why are you nervous about that?”

“Uh, God took them.” Crowley swallows. “With the Fall.”

“I see.”

“No.” Crowley holds his hand up. “Somehow we bonded!”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “Isn't that a good thing?”

“NO!” Crowley looks like crying.

“Why not?” Aziraphale says, trying to catch Crowley's eyes. “Are they going to separate us?”

Crowley shakes his head.

“Then what, dearest?”

“God took them away.” He looks devastated. “Demon.” He points at himself “Am I making you sin?”

“LOVE is not a sin!” Aziraphale says fiercely.

Crowley lets out a little sob. “Don't want to make you bad.”

“You won't. You'll never make me bad.” Aziraphale kisses Crowley on the forehead.

"I'm...” Crowley stutters. “Everything doesn't get fixed.” He flaps his hands around. “Still going to have bad days."

"I know that. And my feelings won't change." Aziraphale holds Crowley's hands against his chest. “This link or bond, whatever it is, we'll figure it out. But I will never, ever, stop loving you. I'm here for you, always.

He swallows. "Good. Tired of living in fear.” He frowns. “Hastur wants a fight, and I'd rather not be alone."

“Well it's a good thing one of us is a trained fighter then.”

Crowley squeezes Aziraphale's hand. They'd figure this out. And then deal with Hastur.

<~>

Greenland is NOT green, and it is cold. So cold. Crowley is glad that they are supposed to be laying low because it means that most of the time, they get to stay inside, and most days he's able to doze on the sofa next to Aziraphale huddled under piles of blankets. Aziraphale does quite a bit of work, though Crowley has no idea what exactly he's doing. A ton of writing. Probably stuff he shouldn't think too much about, so he doesn't.

Michael comes by at least once a week. She directs them when to move, when to lay low. She keeps them updated on status of Heaven, Hell and Humanity. She usually comes in through the backdoor, always at night or early morning. The three of them discuss their bond, and it's implications. She doesn't think poorly of their relationship just because he's a demon. He's glad for that. He gets the feeling Aziraphale has not always been accepted by his heavenly kin, and he would hate to be the wedge that drives them apart.

Micheal, she's different than the first time he met her in Heaven. Her and Aziraphale will spar most weeks, other times she sits with Crowley and teaches him to calm his mind, to not broadcast his hurts and feelings. And still other times, she heals him. She's been very patient with him, even when he's scared and pathetic. He is cautious around her at first, doing what he can to make sure that Aziraphale won't too be worried, but now there's a delicate trust building between them.

Crowley teaches her the signs they made up. And he keeps learning. His grasp of sign language multiplies rapidly as he realizes that Michael can read his sign language. BSL, she calls it; British sign language. He isn't sure what year of sign his mind supplied him with, but she understands him, for the most part. It's nice, it's been a very long time since he's been friends with anyone but Aziraphale.

And Crowley can talk, sort of, when he has to. The more Michael heals him, the more he tries to talk. But it's nice to not force himself to talk, just because he can. His throat needs the rest. Aziraphale, bless his dear heart, he tries, but language has never been his strong suit. The Soul Bond, it helps get his point across though, which is handy.

Healing, it leaves both of them exhausted every time. He's very amendment about wanting to focus on his throat, but Michael says it needs several weeks to heal between repeated miracles, so they space things out across his body. Sometimes she'll focus on his wrists, or the deep scars on his legs. She heals his left hand that had been broken and healed poorly. Aziraphale holds him and keeps up a steady dialogue when she works on his bare chest. She tries once to do his back and he panics so bad that she has to stop and let Aziraphale step in. There are other scars too, scars he's too nervous or embarrassed to show her, even with Aziraphale holding him.

Crowley talks to her about Hell. Partially as a distraction, partially a trade for her services. Not that she demands it, but he doesn't have much else to offer. Sometimes he talks about the humans instead. Not those ones, the collective humans. Showing her the things that he's been learning about. His face is fond when he recalls the children. He didn't see children the entire time he was captive. A good thing really, but he does miss them.

When they're small, they are soft and squishy, so easy to fawn over. And then when they get a little bit older, the questions start. Why? Why? Why? They are curious about everything. He adores that stage. And they keep growing. Then comes the mischief, the creativity, the potential. Humanity has never needed his help with cruelty, but nor have they needed much to nudge them towards helping. They grow their whole short lives, and they live with passion. Even now, with the scars of war still left around them in broken ruins, they keep moving forward. Crowley is almost envious of them.

<~>

Michael had left one of the heavenly communication things (mobiles, he thinks is what she called it) in the early days. Officially Aziraphale is supposed to be the one using it. In reality, Aziraphale abhors it and Crowley has been the one learning to send messages and get updates. For some reason, his eyes work with the screen. He still holds onto the journal, but now he uses it for its original purpose, and types out words to Aziraphale on the screen instead when his throat is not cooperating. He wonders if Hell has some of these fancy boxes. Probably not. They're probably still sending parchments or messenger pigeons.

<~>

There's far more moving these days than Crowley's ever done before. Always to somewhere cold and isolated. Micheal and Aziraphale are always doing miracles on the safe house of the week. It takes less energy to ward the safe houses and Crowley gets better at keeping his emotions from flooding through their link. As the months go by, Aziraphale starts getting less tense around her, his eyes are less nervous. The danger hasn't changed, but it also _has._

And being with Aziraphale, it's... incredible. Even if he hadn't confessed his feelings when he did, they would have come out soon. There's no hiding things from Aziraphale. Not now. The link is more open on Aziraphale's side, either that, or he's better at holding mental barriers. Crowley's emotions are loud and messy. Aziraphale's are soothing and warm. Perhaps they were already on their way to _this_ , Crowley muses. Hastur and the archangels had just moved up their timeline.

He still hasn't worked up the nerve to do more than hold Aziraphale's hand, or sometimes hug him. He's better at receiving affection. Aziraphale is incredibly fond of endearments. And he'll kiss the top of Crowley's head when he's setting their table for breakfast, or press a kiss to Crowley's hand when he goes off to spar with Micheal. They cuddle- A LOT. Micheal teases him friendly about how flustered he gets when Aziraphale does something _cute_. Crowley still can't believe that this is his life.

It's good, it's so good, and he's never deserved good things, never been worthy enough. Aziraphale really doesn't like when he talks about himself like that, but some days he's worried that this is all just a dream and that he never got rescued. That Aziraphale loving him is too good to be true- that Aziraphale is too good to be real. But if this is a dream, then he never wants to wake up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the jump wasn't too jarring. I had 2 drafts that were both under 1000 words and ended up posting them together. HOoo am I excited to write some of the scenes that are alluded to in this chapter.   
> Words just weren't my friend this week!


	16. Hideaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solitude, learning, and a dash of foreshadowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I did it again. I opened up the wrong word document and finished up that chapter. *facepalm* On the bright side, after I finish writing the second half of their 'HEADS DOWN", Ch 18 will be posted pretty soon after, cause, hey! It's already done!

They've been in hiding for about three weeks now in the second safe house; they've spent that time trying to get used to that extra input that their link carries. Aziraphale misses the hustle and bustle of London, and the food. Not that things had been particularly great with the war, but he feels a bit homesick. He's been trying to keep busy to keep his mind off of things. He doesn't know how much of his feelings are coming through the link, and he'd rather not overwhelm Crowley.

Crowley has been grumpy since they left the bookshop. He's sure Aziraphale can feel the waves of frustration pouring off of him. The plant is not doing well in the cold. There's too much noise in his head, too many feelings bleeding through. It's all irritating. He's not sleeping great and he's twitchy. His wings are out almost as much as they were in the early days, always draped around himself for extra warmth. He hasn't felt this out of sorts since Aziraphale rescued him.

Crowley tries not to snap too much at Aziraphale, and each time he does there's a sickening rush of guilt and panic that flood over him. He constantly worries “this will be it, the thing that pushes him too far. He'll give up on me.” Sometimes the mark on his right hand gets warm. A warning, Michael explained to him. And each time it happens, he forces himself to calm down, to reign in the powers that are trying to manifest without his control.

There is a schedule they follow. Crowley knows Aziraphale isn't as used to the silence as him. And Crowley is not a great conversation partner. They play a lot of card games in the mornings when Aziraphale isn't working on their defenses or the angel will read aloud from one of his many books. Michael will come in the evening. She will heal Crowley first and then she will rest a bit and spar with Aziraphale while Crowley is knocked out senseless from healing. Then the next day, Aziraphale will get his 'sleep of the week' while she coaches Crowley on his 'loudness.' Aziraphale will wake up before she slips out into the night, traveling a bit the human way so her miracles don't lead straight to them.

Michael is a great distraction for them. They're both tense around her, fully aware of the threat she can pose. But she doesn't give them any reason to doubt her. She's... helpful. She brings them supplies so they don't have to risk themselves going out. She keeps their firewood from running out, their milk from spoiling, and their drinking water from freezing over. She gives them news, she trains with Aziraphale, She teaches Crowley, and lets Crowley 'teach' her too. The signs they made for themselves, signs he pulled out of who knows where, and she will politely explain to him what language he is 'speaking'. She asks Crowley what country's signs he would prefer to know. He chooses British because he's been pretending to be that for long enough, he's grown kind of attached to it. She's also the one who convinces Crowley that he should tell Aziraphale how he feels.

<~>

Love! Aziraphale had hoped, how he _wished_ the feelings he got from Crowley meant he cared. But he never truly _believed_ it. Not until Crowley tells him outright. And now he is allowed to return those feelings! Whenever Crowley starts getting into a mood, he can wrap his wings around them both and hold onto the demon's hands, talking to him until he feels better. They hold hands a lot. Crowley also has fully embraced cuddles. Crowley will curl up on his lap when he's sitting on the sofa. And during the night, he wraps himself around Aziraphale and holds onto him while he sleeps.

While Crowley sleeps, Aziraphale thinks. And he plans. It doesn't take him very long to decide on something, and after that, he keeps his thoughts off of it. Right now they need to come up with a plan. Not _that_ plan. Though he really should come up with a better name for it. That's going to get confusing fast. The first one is a decision, the second one is a strategy. How they're going to deal with Hell.

Crowley isn't much help with the name. “Fuck-off Hastur.” He suggests.

“That's a terrible name. Truly attrocious.”

“Skedaddle? Make thyself scarce?”

“Where's the style and the flare? You like drama!”

He glances up with a smirk. Drama, eh? “I do desire... we may be better strangers.” Then he makes a face. "Too long."

“You always did like his comedies.” Aziraphale says as he idly runs his hand over Crowley's shoulder.

In the end, he goes with Plan. Like the Arrangement. Simple is best.

<~>

Around the fourth week, the two of them sit down to eat a dinner that the angel made, a treat – a type curry made from some of the spices and ingredients he'd been keeping “in storage.” Actual spices taste slightly different than miraculous ones, and he can always feel the lingering aftertastes. So whenever he can, Aziraphale replenishes his 'spice rack'. Preferably with fresh spices directly from the originating countries. Laying low has really put a dent in his seasonings.

“Would you like to try this?” Aziraphale says when Crowley makes no motions towards serving himself. He holds his spoon out to Crowley, a bit of bean covered in curry sauce. It's a bit of a cobbled together effort. The meat is lamb, and is a nice break from the sad fish based meals they've gotten used to. It's too cold here for much of a vegetable garden, though he does try to keep some hardier fresh herb plants inside.

Crowley leans in close over the table and lets his eyes flutter shut, breathing in. “Smells good.” He daintily wraps his fingers around the spoon and holds it under his nose for a little longer before popping the spoon in his mouth.

“Spicy!" Crowley gasps, his eyes shooting open.

"Oh!” Aziraphale starts to get up to go to the pantry. “I suppose this rather is! My apologies!" Sometimes he forgets to tone things down from his own tastes. He really does try, he's just bad at guessing what is normal. And he's been keeping these spices from going stale for years, he forgot how potent they could be to one who isn't used to them.

Crowley darts his hand out to keep him seated. He shakes his head. "I taste spicy!" He looks to Aziraphale with glee. "More please?"

Crowley, who will usually eat a couple of bites before loosing interest practically bounces in his seat. Well perhaps if he'd been Aziraphale, he would have bounced and wiggled, instead he simply looks like he's about to vibrate out of his chair and Aziraphale is hit with waves of staggering joy. "Of course, have as much as you want, dearest. Let me get you a bowl." He smiles.

Crowley eats ravenously. Attacking the roll and dipping it in the sauce. Aziraphale realizes there are tears falling from his eyes. “You're crying.” He realizes and darts for his napkin. He carefully wipes the cloth along Crowley's face. "Why are you crying?" He doesn't feel anything negative coming through their link. Did he break Crowley with his cooking?! Oh, this is awful!

"Happy!” Crowley assures him. “New taste. S' Good.”

“Michael will be pleased that her healing has had such a noticeable effect so soon. She thought it would take a much longer time to do anything.” Aziraphale stirs his own bowl. “Look at you, surpassing expectations. I always knew you were powerful, dear.”

Crowley pauses in disbelief. “Me?” He shakes his head “This is Michael.”

“Oh, dear boy, I do think she knows her own capabilities. Your body is drawing power from somewhere else.”

Crowley hums and rests his spoon in thought.

“What was eating like before?” Aziraphale wonders.

“Boring.” Crowley fiddles with the edge of the table. “Dirt. Chore.” Some of the light fades from his eyes.

“Oh! Terribly sorry, dear! I can see how this is exciting for you, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. I wasn't thinking!”

Crowley waves it off, focusing his attention back on the bowl in front of him. Michael worked with him on this early on. Distracting himself; not broadcasting his feelings so much through the link between them, and he tries to remember her lessons. He notes all the colors in his bowl. Feels it's warmth. He tries to pick the different flavors of spice in the sauce. He takes another bite. The subtle flavors are missing. The vegetables are mush in his mouth. The heat of them though, he chases after it.

“Memories are memory.” Crowley says slowly and takes a drink. “This is better.”

He probably eats three times as much as he's ever managed. His stomach is sore and angry with him afterwards, but he can't stop smiling. He's happy. So happy. There's fire on his tongue. It tastes a bit like a promise of the things to come.

He sleeps well that night.

<~>

After spicy, his next flavor to come back is sour, and Crowley slathers his toast with the tart aged butter and eats the yogurt-like Skyr that Michael picks up when she is in town getting supplies for them. Sometimes she'll bring some things just for Crowley to try. (His favorite thing so far has been a Canadian cinnamon candy that he's v e r y slowly eating, to savor it.)

Trying to convince Crowley to try to eat now turns into trying to make sure he doesn't choke by eating too fast. He still prefers colder foods, but he's getting more pleasure out of eating in general. Which is nice. Aziraphale watches the hollows between his ribs fill in and his cheeks get less gaunt. He's still painfully thin, but he looks a lot healthier. Demons and angels don't really need to eat, but so much of Crowley's energy is being burnt off trying to heal the accumulated hurts, that eating is fairly important to do now. Sleep too.

Aziraphale uses a lot of his own energy into powering up the safeguards and wards around their house. He needs the food and sleep too, though now he only lets himself sleep once a week when Michael is there to take over his watch. The rest of the time he stays vigilante, on guard for supernatural threats. Aziraphale isn't sure when exactly, but Crowley and Michael _have_ bonded. Aziraphale might have leery if he'd been the jealous type, but Crowley looks at Aziraphale with warmth and open trust, while he looks at her with mild suspicion. There's the growing sparks of friendship and Aziraphale would never deny Crowley that simply to ease his own insecurities.

No, Aziraphale has no worries at all about anything happening while he's asleep. Even when Crowley starts to slowly open up to her, he never stops radiating Love towards Aziraphale. At night, sometimes Crowley will let himself be held instead of the other way around. Aziraphale enjoys this because then he can see Crowley's face and kiss his eyelids. He can run his fingers through Crowley's shoulder length wavy hair. He's mindful about where his hands are The demon doesn't like things touching his sides nor hugs that go around his waist. When they embrace, Aziraphale stands on his tiptoes and wraps his arms around Crowley's neck. It's nice.

And Crowley will nuzzle his nose and rest their foreheads together. He's something of an octopus now. He's always holding onto Aziraphale. It makes his writing difficult, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Whenever he senses Michael coming, he hides the papers he's working on away. He thinks he does this subtly enough that Crowley doesn't notice. Crowley never asks him about what he's writing. That's good, because if he asked him, Aziraphale wouldn't lie. And then Crowley would definitely try to talk him out of what he's planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'ma be real y'all. we're on month 4 of our lockdown, and I'm pretty sure my husband is the Aziraphale in this situation. Poor thing at least has video chats to keep him sane. I can only imagine how stir crazy Aziraphale is going! Writing Good Omens is how I'm coping. T_T


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiding, Training, and a dash of Hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! Now Beta'd by the wonderfully kind foxes_phandoms

On week five, or is it six (?) they move again. It's less chilly. This house is somewhat less cramped, but even more remote. Crowley is getting used to living like this. He keeps a careful eye out. Micheal and Aziraphale both work to conceal their energies. He's left to deal with any human issues. Not that there are any, but he watches.

<~>

His nightmares are still plaguing him. The first time Michael sees them, Crowley doesn't even realize she's there. He's too caught up in the panic.

Aziraphale pauses mid move while drilling with Micheal. "Crowley!" He drops the practice weapon, no caring that it clatters to the ground and darts to the bedroom.

"Angel, no... Please!" Crowley shoots up with a sob, his eyes unseeing.

"Crowley, it's just a dream! You're alright." His broken cries are soothed by Aziraphale. “Come back to me, dear boy. It was only a bad dream.”

Crowley touches the angel's face, scrambling to lift up Aziraphale shirt. "Fire, no!"

"There is no fire.” Aziraphale gently holds on to his wrists “It wasn't real!"

"Hell." Crowley sobs. "Hurt you."

"They did not, and they will not."

Crowley cries in relief when his hands meet unblemished flesh. He closes his eyes and tears stream down his cheeks. He brings his hands up to to hold onto Aziraphale, squeezing him tight around his upper chest.

It takes him a few more moments to realize that they're not alone. Micheal is standing there, watching him. She looks guilty when she realizes he's watching her. Crowley throws his hand up, making the door swing shut with a bang. He can't deal with this right now.

“I'm right here, everything is alright.”

<~>

He's in the kitchen, sitting and writing in his journal when Micheal catches him. He slams the book shut and avoids looking at her.

She shuffles awkwardly. "Do you, er, want to talk about it?"

Crowley bristles. "No?"

"But, this happens."

Crowley makes a noise and stands up to run away.

"Alright, I'll drop it.” She calms him. “I'm sorry. That was private. Aziraphale made me worry, I thought you were in danger." The air between them is filled with a tense silence. "Aziraphale and I are training. I came to get some water. Why don't you watch for a bit? I'm sure it will be nice to get critique from fresh eyes."

Crowley sighs, taking the olive branch. "Kay." He tucks his journal away and follows her.

<~>

There's a decent sized room that's mostly empty, and that's where she trains with Aziraphale. It does help, watching them. His angel is in his element, and their speed is astounding. They say angels don't dance. It certainly looks like a dangerous dance. It's fluid and graceful. Powerful. At first they spar using only weapons and then they drill in miracles. It's here that Micheal really outclasses him. Her power is stronger. Humans can't see it, the colors of powers, but to his eyes, it's beautiful to watch.

“Crowley, could you come here please?" Micheal calls.

He picks his way off the floor. "Yeah?"

"How are your defense skills?"

"Wha?" He motions towards Aziraphale. “Thought he was my defense?”

"Aziraphale will protect you, I know, but you should know some things to make his job easier.”

Crowley shakes his head. "Can't do." He wiggles his hand.

"True, you can't fight _with miracles_." She straightens. "But that doesn't mean you can't defend yourself. You're incredibly perspective, and you are smart. Both are very important when you are being defensive. In a battle, your goal is to keep yourself alive. You don't have to hurt anyone if you control yourself.” She pauses. “People like us, we tend to expect people to react a certain way. We rely on our powers. But if you need to, I think you will find that a punch to the jaw can end a fight just as quickly. We don't tend to expect physical attacks. Hence why they _work._ Train yourself to use your environment and strengths and to anticipate Aziraphale so you can keep yourself from getting hurt.”

“Stay out of angel's way.” He drawls. “Got it.”

“Being quick on your feet is important. Drawing your opponents out and evading them makes them wear themselves out. Tired people make mistakes. All it takes is one second of hesitation to win a fight.” She squares her shoulders up. “Take a stance. Arms up”

Crowley does.

“Feet apart further, squat down lower, elbows-, Aziraphale.” She points. “Stand like Crowley.” She pushes on Aziraphale's shoulder. “See how easy it is to unbalance him?” She pats Aziraphale's upper arm. “Now, Fighting stance”

Aziraphale compacts himself, and this time he does not move.

“Clench your core. When you fight, trust your instincts.”

She makes a couple blows at Aziraphale, none of them connect.

“See how he evades? Quick, and then back to center.” She points. “Do you see how his feet move? Speed comes with skill. The better you get at learning it, the faster you will be. That's what you're working towards. And it starts with a proper stance.”

She drills them. It's exhausting, but it's good. All that excess energy he's been holding onto is able to burn itself out. He's never been a fighter. He was an artist once. He created. These are steps to a dance, he reminds himself. If an angel can dance, he certainly can learn it too. Even if the steps involve throwing himself at the floor over and over until he learns to land correctly.

<~>

When she comes to heal him, Crowley has already decided that his chest should be where they focus next. He has a lot of scar tissue, and rolling around on the floor is really hurting his ribs. He needs to be able to breathe easier to keep this up.

Crowley unbuttons his shirt when she prepares and sets it off to the side. Aziraphale holds out his hand and Crowley takes it. This process would be easier on him if he laid down, but he really, really doesn't want to do that. He sits upright in bed with Aziraphale standing beside him. Micheal approaches him like usual and lifts her hands.

Crowley makes a noise of panic when she actually touches him. Aziraphale motions for her to pause. “You're doing very well dear, you didn't let your walls down."

Crowley closes his eyes and takes a deep breath."Will you," he hesitates. He's too vulnerable. He can't ask.

"How about I come sit by you? You can lean on me."

Crowley flashes his eyes, grateful and Aziraphale climbs on the bed. He takes a a deep breath. "I think, I can do it now." He says after a moment.

When the touch comes, it's unnerving, but not unpleasant. Hands slide down his chest, along one of the jagged scars. They skirt along the sore ribs and smooth out burns on his flesh.

The first wave of healing, it lightens the wounds, easing them. The more healing that's done, the deeper it penetrates, until it's all done.

She pulls her energy out of him and Crowley wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Wasn't so bad.” and then he slumps over, exhausted. Aziraphale eases him down onto his side and pulls the blanket around him.

<~>

The next time around she tries his back. Crowley has gotten confident. The other side went okay. He can do this. But then it touches his back. It's cold and it burns, and No. No he can't. He _can't_

_Demon_

Crowley tries to center himself. It's only a memory.

_You know you deserve this._

“Please.” He begs. The room is spinning around him. It's not working!

_You are wicked. It's in your nature. That's why we have to keep teaching you._

“Sorry!” He cries. There's pain, so much pain, and all he can do is take it.

And then Aziraphale wraps him in his arms. Crowley scrambles to hold onto him. He's sobbing, wretched broken sounds come from his throat. “Angel.” He buries his head in Aziraphale's shoulder.

“I have you, You're safe.”

“No!”

_You sinful creature._

“Yes.” He rubs Crowley's head. “Breathe with me. You can do that. In- ” Aziraphale exhales slowly. “and out.”

Crowley can feel sweat dripping down his back and his chest is heaving. They breathe together for a few minutes until the panic and pain fade.

“Would you like to put on a shirt?” Aziraphale holds out one of his soft old jumpers.

Crowley tugs it over his head. It swallows him and sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on his skin. “Sorry.”

“My dear.” Aziraphale kisses his brow. “Why don't I read to you? Micheal brought me a new book, and I can hardly contain my delight. I'd love to share it with you.”

Crowley mummers and lays out on his side, looking up at Aziraphale. “Read.”

<~>

Micheal knocks on the open door frame to get his attention after a few minutes. “I think I'm going to go now. We should take a break.”

She's leaving early, Crowley realizes.

“Thank you Crowley for trusting me enough to let me try that. I shouldn't have attempted it without Aziraphale here.”

Crowley wipes at his eyes. “You...you heal me a lot. I do trust you.” Crowley wraps his arms around himself. “But I...”

She's leaving early because he ruined everything. Like he always does.

“Shh.” Aziraphale rubs his shoulder, as if sensing his thoughts. And then it hits Crowley that he probably does get some sort of indication of what he's thinking.

“I'll see you guys next week.”

“Oh my darling.” Aziraphale brushes Crowley's sweaty hair away from his face. “I hate that you have to suffer through this. But you don't have to do it alone anymore. You know that, right? I'm always here for you.”

“All you do.” Crowley frowns. “Take care of me.” He's a parasite. Aziraphale didn't even get to have his training this time.

“I volunteered for it.” Aziraphale takes his face into his hands. “You've been taking care of me since the garden of Eden. Let me return the favor dear. My hurt, it's much more subtle than yours, but every single time I suffered, you were there to ease the sting of my pain. And you mean so much, so _very_ _much_ to me. I want to be here, for you. I wish that these horrors had never happened to you, but I cannot change the mistakes of the past. I will be here _now_ to love and support you, as long as you need it.” Their foreheads rest together. “My darling beloved.”

“Ngk.” Crowley closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) love to hear your feedback! See you next time around~


	18. Delete this, An Authors Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will DELETE later and post the real ch 18

y'all, I've had a really bad and stubborn UTI. My husband and I got a virtual appointment at the clinic and they changed my meds up again. So here's to hoping the third time is the charm. I've mostly been curled up with my heating pad and playing animal crossing while I guzzle water. I'm so over this infection, I'm ready to get things off my phone and edit/post the chapter, but it's taking longer than I thought it would, sorry about that! Will update this as soon as I can!


	19. Aziraphale's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneaking out, Flashbacks, A bit of light reading, and more sneaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the kind words. This last week or so has been nuts. So, a tad late, but hopefully worth the wait  
> Thanks to Foxes_phandoms for putting up with my rambling emails at like 2 in the morning!

Things have stalled. Most of Crowley has been healed, except his back, wings, and more intimate areas. These all make him panic uncontrollably. His throat is still a bit rough, but his own healing powers have much less to focus on. They're less spread thin and he's slowly able to heal naturally.

He's not an excellent fighter. He never will be. He's never won a single training match. But he can strategize fairly well. If he hadn't been locked away for most of the last century, Aziraphale is sure that the demon would have done much better at the whole espionage thing than his own pitiful attempt went.

Crowley is well suited at avoiding attacks and staying on his feet. The serpentine twist of his spine and hips comes particularly in handy. He's practicing with Micheal now.

“Crowley, we do this every week. You can do this.” She raises her sword to swing at him.

"Maybe." Crowley dodges her strikes and pulls his powers up to make a shield. A bit of the miracle gets through, but only barely.

“Much better.” She looks satisfied.

<~>

Crowley is pacing through the house, grumbling to himself under his breath.

Aziraphale can also sense something through the link. It's discomforting to feel Crowley so upset. He sets his book aside and goes to find Crowley.

“What's wrong dear?”

“Everything.” Crowley waves his hands around. “What isn't wrong?”

“I mean, what is bothering you tonight?”

"I want out of this blessed house! It's been months. I got a taste of freedom with you, and now it's like I'm trapped in that cage again. Everything feels suffocating! I want to look up at the stars. I want to do anything other than stay here for one moment longer! We're in the middle of nowhere. Please? All we do is run and hide. For how long?”

"I suppose that depends on Hastur."

Crowley scowls at him. "And then what?"

Aziraphale sighs. "We deal with him." He pauses. "Not that kind of deal!"

"How?" Crowley demands. “How will we?!”

"Michael has really gotten me back in fighting shape. I've had to tighten my belt buckle. Gabriel will be happy about that. And I've learned so many new things about using Her powers."

"Right, ssso eliminate the problem. And then what?" Crowley huffs and turns.

"Dearest, what's wrong? How can I help you? What do you need?"

"I need answers! Why is he doing this? Why is he so determined?! Why doesn't my blessed brain work right?! There are memories, but I still have so many gaps. " He takes a deep breath. "I'm so tired of this. Hiding, worrying. He could really hurt you!”

"He could hurt you too." Aziraphale counters.

"I don't matter! The world keeps spinning, and _you_ don't deserve to live like this!"

Aziraphale carefully holds Crowley's hands. "My dear boy. You _do_ matter. You matter _so_ _much."_

Crowley looks down and swallows. There is a lump in his throat.

"Whatever we do, we **both** are going to survive.” Aziraphale squeezes his hands. “That's the only option."

“Please can we just go outside?” Crowley begs.

“Just for a bit.” Aziraphale sighs. “We need to be careful.” He tries some of the shielding Micheal showed them that would make them blurry on any human cameras, just in case.

“It will be fine.” Crowley holds up a blanket. "Let's get out of here."

<~>

It's so dark, any humans wouldn't be able to see them. Crowley can see just fine in the dark though. Aziraphale lets Crowley guide him away from the house. They settle down in one of the fields nearby. Aziraphale lies on the blanket, but keeps his celestial senses alert. Crowley sits on the blanket next to him, taking in the night sky.

"I think that one is one of mine! " Crowley points. “Well,” he hesitates. “It was a team effort.”

"How magnificent!"

“S'alright, I suppose. They all look the same from here.” Crowley flushes. “The humans look at the stars and see pictures. They give them names. They tell stories. They see the beauty. Every civilization saw different things. I knew them all once.” He sighs. “That's rather human, isn't it?"

"We _are_ on Earth, living with the humans." Aziraphale says plainly.

"Can I try something else human?"

Aziraphale nods. "Anything you'd like. What is it?"

"Can I... Can I kiss you?" Crowley looks up shyly.

"Yes." Aziraphale exhales, sitting up.

“Alright." He bites his lip. He can do this.

Aziraphale lets Crowley set the pace. He creeps forward, hesitant. And then Crowley touches his face running his thumb around his jaw and presses a brief chaste kiss to Aziraphale lips before pulling back.

"How did that feel?" Aziraphale asks.

"I dunno.” Crowley furrows his eyebrows. “Soft?"

"Do you want to try it again?" Aziraphale asks after a moment when Crowley doesn't describe it further.

"Yeah?" He drags the word out.

"You don't sound very certain about it." Aziraphale looks at him softly.

"I want to be closer to you!” Crowley cries. “The humans like it so much!"

"I don't want you to do anything you are _not_ comfortable with my dear."

"Let me sit on your lap.” Crowley insits. “I _want_ you to kiss me!” Aziraphale looks at him. “I do!"

"If you want a proper kiss, then you will get one." They shift around, fitting together. "Your eyes are so beautiful in the moonlight." Aziraphale brushes away the hair that's fallen across his face and looks at the amber eyes, pupils expanded in the dark like usual.

"Hush!" Crowley says. “Not beautiful.”

“Oh, I disagree.”

“ _You're_ beautiful.” Crowley scoffs. “I'm a demon. A demon who is waiting very patiently for a kiss.”

“I wouldn't say patiently.” He tweaks Crowley's nose. “Ready?"

He nods. Aziraphale uses his hand to gently tilt Crowley's head and leans in, pressing plush lips against his own. Aziraphale kisses him with passion and love. It's warm. Crowley gets the urge to be closer.

Aziraphale finally pulls back. "Was that alright?"

"More!" Crowley grasps the material of Aziraphale's shirt. They're snogging.

Aziraphale breaks the kiss. "Okay?"

"Still yes." Crowley rolls his eyes. Aziraphale kisses him again, and after moments brushes his tongue along Crowley's bottom lip. He gasps and Aziraphale pushes his tongue into Crowley's mouth.

Aziraphale stops the kiss again. "You need to move your tongue. Do what I do."

Crowley leans in, closing the gap between them. Aziraphale kisses, their tongues sliding together. It feels intense.

Crowley's chest heaves when they pull apart. "Go back to the other one. I like that better."

"Certainly." Aziraphale is gentle and careful. Crowley still feels like they're just smashing lips together. He wants more, but more isn't it. He needs something.

Aziraphale shifts, holding on to Crowley's side.

Crowley freezes. Aziraphale feels an abrupt panic through the link.

_Hands holding him down. It hurts._

Oh, the terror that Crowley radiates. Aziraphale abruptly realizes the middle of the field is nowhere private. He abruptly sends everything back to the house, themselves included

"Crowley, dearest, can you hear me? Crowley, It's Aziraphale. You're safe. I won't let you get hurt like that. Breathe with me. Can you do that?"

 _[I didn't do anything to you all!]_ Crowley scoots to the wall, cowering. He keeps saying 'no', 'stop', and 'please.' [ _Why are you doing this to me?]_

"Crowley, you're not there. You're here in Greenland.”

 _[Where did you get these things! You humans aren't supposed to have things like these]_ Crowley's hands clench, tears falling from his unseeing eyes.

"Come back to me, love. Remember the bookstore?

_[I'm sorry for whatever I did!” He hunches over. “I've repented and seen the light... I have powers, just take off the manacles. I'll do whatever you want me to. Fame, power, riches. You can have all that. Just take these off!]_

"You're safe with me."

 _["Nonono, why? Plesssse ssstop. I'll behave. Pleassse."]_ "Angel, I'm sorry!" His broken sobs fill the air.

"I know you are."

"Aziraphale?" He looks at him in confusion. "You can't be here. They will hurt you!" His eyes dart around the room, breathing fast.

"They hurt you."

"Nah, this is nothing." His eyes say otherwise.

"Crowley, they can't hurt you anymore."

Crowley scoffs and then looks away. "You still mad about the _thing_?"

"No." He lies. Aziraphale is mad. But he's mad at himself. If he'd given Crowley the holy water, he would have noticed Crowley's disappearance much sooner. "This is isn't real dear boy."

"This is one of the better dreams then.”

 _Oh._ He phrased that wrong, and Crowley has jumped to the obvious conclusion. He'd meant whatever Crowley was reliving wasn't real. When he tries to clear things up, Crowley talks over him.

“Satan I wish our last talk never happened. I really messed up. And now it's my fault. I'm such a bloody idiot. I shouldn't have done that, put you on the spot, but my bosses are really... not good, I'm scared." He admits.

“I know. I'm sorry.” Aziraphale tries to nip the growing panic before it can fully take root in the demon's mind.

“Why are you sorry?” Crowley looks bewildered.

“I misspoke. I'm real. What you were seeing, it isn't happening. You're safe, You're not in there.” He hesitates. “Do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that? Course I do.”

“It's 1947. You're in the parlor. In Greenland.”

Crowley glances at him. “19-”

“We went outside, to watch the stars.”

“Like the bookshop...” Crowley says slowly.

“Yes!” Aziraphale lights up. “The skylight. You liked twisting into the oddest positions while I read to you out loud. I always wondered how that could be comfortable. But you'd pile up a bunch of pillows and blankets and climb up into them.” He pauses. “Can I get you a blanket? There's one on the sofa you like, just over there.”

Crowley nods shakily.

He gets it and sets it down near Crowley who picks it up with trembling hands and wraps it around himself.

“Isn't it soft?”

Crowley nods again. Things around him start to come into focus.

“You're still breathing too fast dear boy. Do it with me. Deep breath in. Hold it. And exhale.”

  
Crowley tries to mimic him. “Angel... Hug?”

“Anything you need.”

Crowley scrambles into Aziraphale's lap and the angel brings his wings out, surrounding them as he always does during one of the attacks. He hugs Crowley's neck.

“That's over. I won't let it happen again.” Aziraphale assures him. “All you have to do right now is breathe. You can do that. Just like me." Aziraphale picks one of Crowley's hands up and holds it to the angel's chest. “Just like me.”

Crowley closes his eyes, leaning his head on Aziraphale's shoulder as the two of them work through breathing exercises.

Finally Crowley stops shaking, and his breath is steady. But he does not pull away. He clings to Aziraphale tightly. The angel gently massages his scalp and combs his fingers through curls.

“I wish I had told you everything a long time ago.” Aziraphale admits. “I wasted so much of our time together. And you paid for it.”

"There's time now. You help.” Crowley looks up briefly. "I told myself if I got out of there that I'd sleep until you weren't mad anymore." Crowley wipes his face, yellow eyes looking exhausted. “The longer I was there... I used to imagine that we'd get a little cottage by the sea.” He admits.

“Why the sea?”

“Cause your eyes in the evening are the color of the ocean. The light hits your head and it looks like a halo.”

Aziraphale is gobsmacked.

“It was stupid.”

“It wasn't. One day, we will make that happen.”

“When?” Crowley scoffs. “Like I said earlier, all we do is hide! We're never going to get that! I should just accept it. It's a fact. I'm a demon. And a snake. And I do **not** get a 'happily ever after.”

“No you shouldn't.” Aziraphale says firmly. “You shouldn't accept that. You deserve to be happy!”

“I don't.”

“Dearest. You _do._ And I'll repeat it as many times as it takes you to believe it.”

<~>

Micheal comes to them a little earlier than expected that week. “I have news.” She explains.

“News?” Aziraphale perks up.

“There's a rumor going around Hell. You know I've been listening.”

“No?” Crowley drawls sarcastically.

“You hush.” She rolls her eyes at him playfully.

“What exactly is the rumor?” Aziraphale asks, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Well Ligur ranted to me for about half an hour that Hastur has been slacking off on his duties for no good reason.”

“I think it's safe to say we know the reason.” Crowley mutters.

“Yes. But Ligur doesn't.” She holds her hand up. “Ligur has his fingers in a lot of pies. If he doesn't know why, then it's not official. It'd have to be an order straight from Lucifer himself. But that's unlikely.” She pauses. “Heaven only knew Crowley was back because 'Hell' contacted us.

“Hastur?”

“My best guess, he was hoping we'd get rid of Crowley. But now he's got to do the job himself.”

Crowley's head feels like it's spinning. “This makes no sense. Why's he after me then? I know he doesn't like how I worked. Why would he threaten Aziraphale? Why's he hate me so much?”

“That, I don't know.” She tugs her sleeve down. “But it's more than we knew yesterday. He's angry enough at you to hurt an angel. I doubt Hell will be pleased to hear he's getting a head start on the war. We'll find out why, and figure out how to protect the two of you.”

Crowley drops his head back on the sofa. “So this is my life now? Running and hiding? Being useless?”

“No.” She hesitates.“I probably shouldn't tell you this. No, I definitely shouldn't tell you this.”

Both of them look up at her.

“How much do you know about monitoring powers?”

“I know it's done?” Crowley ventures.

“It's broad unless someone is actively paying attention and making the effort. There's not a record of what miracles and powers are being used. We were able to do that because we put a lot of effort into making it happen. It takes too much effort to do maintain, and requires a focus.”

She taps her palms. “Miracles happen by intent. You saw it when the archangels came down. You burned the coal, when you thought and the words formed. Your powers touch the marks and we can see there's been an effort. Do you understand?”

She continues, “A regular angel on Earth might be aware of an increase of demonic abilities, and they might be able to narrow it down to an area. Say there are three demons on Earth at that time. Any one of them might have used their powers. If they are close they might be able to sense the changes around them that took place, But if there's only one demon on Earth, then it's obvious who did it.”

She clears her throat. “I'm saying for Hastur to track your powers down, he'd have to ensure that there are no demons on earth, and without an official order from Hell, he doesn't have that kind of authority. What we've been doing was because we were concerned about Hell doing just that, tracing you. But now, as long as you are smart about it, he'll have to track the two of you down the human way.

“No, that can't possibly be true." Crowley insists.

"It is!"

“Hastur knew exactly what I miracled.” Crowley protests, sitting up. “He knew that I made a plant!"

"Then he had to have left an anchor. Something on you."

Crowley pats at his chest. "On me?! Where?!"

“It doesn't have to be physical. And only requires a touch.”

Micheal stands over him. “Can I look?”

Crowley makes a noise in his throat and gestures for her to get on with it. She closes her eyes and rifles through his spiritual energy. “I see it. Hiding away.”

“Destroy it!” He demands.

“If we do that, he'll know that we know. Also, he will be able to feel the anchor break.” She tries to calm him. “The wards prevent anything from getting through. It's basically dormant right now with all the protections you have, but we shouldn't risk breaking it until we are ready to fight.”

“I don't like that idea.” Aziraphale bristles.

Micheal turns to him. “It gives us the element of surprise. Less time for him to prepare. As long as Crowley stays behind the wards, his miracles can't be tracked.

<~>

Aziraphale sets his fountain pen down and waves his hand to dry the ink. He's finished with this. He's been writing reports, training materials, history. Now all that's left is to talk to Crowley and deliver it.

<~>

Crowley feels an itch under his skin that he can't explain. He needs to move. He needs to do something. He does not know what he needs. It takes him quite a while to figure out that the urge is not his own. After all, he barely understands his feelings on a good day.

Crowley sits down at the table and waits until Aziraphale decides he's hungry.

"Oh, hello dear. Are you hungry?” Aziraphale rifles through the pantry. “Do you want something?"

"Do _you_?"

"Obviously, that's why I am in the kitchen.”

"Not food. Don't be vazey.” Crowley narrows his eyes. “You're twitchy. What's wrong?”

"I want to talk to you about what Micheal said. When we left London, we were worried that Hell was behind this. But it's just one demon. You and I, we've both trained and improved."

"And?"

"And you said that you were tired of hiding and feeling scared. I think we know enough now. We're pretty prepared."

"We are? Your point being?"

"I am confident that we can beat him. However, I don't know if we can do it while playing by Heaven's rules.”

"What are you saying?"

“I'm saying we break that anchor, we take the fight to him. I'm saying, I'm choosing you. Heaven is important. But your safety is _more important_ to me."

"Choosing me?"

"Always. Your safety and your happiness are my utmost priorities. If you want to stay here, I don't blame you. It's safer. But I will **NOT** let his presence threaten you any longer. I've wanted to do this for weeks, but I didn't have all the details. I'm _done_ hiding. And I'm done lying." He pulls the papers out from one of his pocket dimensions. "This is what I have been working on."

Crowley looks at it. "What's that?"

"The truth. Everything. What I've done. What I haven't. I'm leaving it all behind and salting the ground.” He admits. “I've been ruled by fear my whole life. And I'm so tired of denying what you mean to me.”

Crowley's mouth gapes open.

“I'll give you some time to think about it. What you want to do. But I have made up my mind.”

<~>

Later that day, Crowley holds up the journal. "Want you to read this."

"Read what dear?" Aziraphale looks up from his own book.

"Everything?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He taps the journal cover. “Before you decide.”

“I've already decided.” He declares. “This won't change it.”

“But it might.” He turns his eyes up, “Please read it?”

<~>

Aziraphale opens the journal, flipping through pages of old half conversations of Crowley's word. Inter-spaced are writings. Memories, dreams, notes.

-

_Angel gave me this. I'd better use it. He'll be happy._

_I should date this. It's what one does, right? Dates don't matter to me. They haven't in a long time. Not like they were keeping a calendar for me to check. Therefore, what shall I use instead of dates? Weather? At least that actually affects things. It's bright outside._

_I still wonder why he saved me from them? What does he want? Nothing, he claims. But nothing is free. He's_ strange _.”_

_-_

Aziraphale flips to the next entry.

-

_Its colder than my bloody feet in here._

_I had another bad dream. Is it a dream if it's a memory? Couldn't close my eyes. Was always like that when they let me freeze. I hated it. Frozen and left on the floor. It was so dark. In the winter they took the cover off the cage, which was my only warmth. And they shut up the basement._

_I keep hiding away blankets. Food when he's not looking. Extra socks. I've found so many little hidden nooks. It's risky. If he finds out, what will he do? I_ have _to risk it. What if he stops caring? What if it's a trick like the humans did last time?_

_Why would he do things for me? He's given me no reason to doubt him, but I can't stop worrying._

-

_It's raining. I wish I was a storm. Angry and explosive; crying out in rage. Powerful._

_I'm not._

-

The next page is mostly blank with a small scribble at the bottom.

_It's still raining. Angel's eyes have the sky in them. They help._

-

_It's bloody late. I can't sleep. No. I Don't want to sleep. Memories are bad tonight._

_Angel says I'm not bad. He doesn't know what I've done. I learned what they liked. Gave it to them like a good whore. That didn't please them. Would he be disgusted at how weak I was? Back in the beginning, when I was still fighting, that made them happiest. Being numb, it's the only way I have survived for so long. Feeling hurts._

-

_It's warm._

_I've thought about it so many times, how I let myself get caught. The chains and whip hurt. Holy water hurt worse. How could I have thought about using it to defend myself? I'm no better than them._

-

_Passed warm, now it's hot. It's soooo hot._

_I sleep in the sun a lot. It's been so long since I was able to relax. I really hope this isn't the worst trick. My heart can't take it. I feel safe. He makes me feel safe._

-

_We are GOING to the park!”_

It's crossed out.

_What kind of demon is scared to go out in public? Bloody disgrace. Hell made me tough. I should be able to do this._

-

_Dark out_

_How long is this going to take?_

_-_

_Ducks!_

_I did it!_

_-_

_Who gives a care about the bloody weather?!_

_He groomed my wing today. I was terrified a bit, but it was also really nice. It hurt so much. I won't tell him. If he knew how much my wings hurt, he'd never do the other. Besides, I'm used to the pain of it. They always ache. Can almost ignore it most days._

-

_Fuck fuck fuck._

_Hastur is here. Nonono_

_And he threatened Aziraphale._

>>>

_Fuck fuck fuck part 2_

_THERE ARE ANGELS?! We are going Up._

_What. The. Heaven? Literally._

-

_Heaven if I know what it looks like outside. I've been in bed for like two weeks._

_Heaven was as bad as I remembered. But they let me go. Holy water is still terrible. Aziraphale is not._

_-_

_Who cares about the date, the_ _**HEAVEN** _ _is going on?_

_There's an angel? Not Angel. She's helping us?_

_I have very mixed feelings about this._

-

_I'm dead._

_Accidentally made something burst into flames in front of an archangel._

_Satan. I don't have time for this._

-

_Not dead._

_So there's that. A lot has happened. Got some spiffy new tattoos, took a 4 day nap and getting a change of address. Never wanna be on another boat again after this. They haven't improved since the ark. Bleh, but better than horses, I suppose._

-

_COLDER THAN COLD_

_Who in the_ _**heaven** _ _named Greenland? Green LAND. LIARS._

_Oh, for fuck sake I think it was my idea._

_-_

_IS it still cold out? I think it might be but I just told off an archangel for the way they treated Aziraphale._

_So,_ _I'm pretty sure I'm actually dead this time._

_-_

_It's the same view of the boarded up windows as always, so fuck if I know the weather. It's day, ok?_

_Aziraphale is tired all the time because of me. Micheal thinks we're bonded?! And that She approves. Err?_

-

_Ugh I'm tired, stayed up all night watching Aziraphale sleep. Again._

_I told Aziraphale I love him. And he loves me too. I really don't want to mess this up. Just once God, can you please let me have one good thing? Haven't you punished me enough? What did I do to displease you this much?_

-

_It is still **cold** as **Heaven.** The sun mocks me with no warmth. I'm laying pathetically under six blankets._

_Mobiles are amazing._

_Aziraphale is amazing._

_Ice is NOT amazing. Seriously, WHO LET THE HUMANS BUILD HOMES IN THIS COLD? WHY?!_

_-_

_Micheal is interesting. Not as interesting as Aziraphale though._

_Still weird to be on good terms with Heaven._

-

_It's dark..._

_To no one's surprise, we're leaving... again..._

_Aziraphale's living like a criminal, all because of me. How much longer can he stand this?_

-

_I'm boooooored._

_Aziraphale is terrible at cheating at card games. Someone should tell him that. Then again, angels aren't known for lying, so maybe they shouldn't. But he really should learn to cheat. I don't know how much longer I can stand to play ignorant. He's_ _**so** _ _bad at it._

_Crowley, no. Do not teach the angel how to cheat at cards to pass the time. Even if it sounds fun._

_-_

_Aziraphale is writing all the time now. He tries to be sneaky. It's adorable. I'm not going to tell him. It's my daily dose of fun. There's no mayhem or mischief to get into up here._

_-_

_Piss off, Hastur, Let me feel my toes again. It's COLD.  
_

_-_

_UH- !!!_

_I tasted spice again?! !!!!!!!!!!  
_

_-_

_Micheal saw me having a nightmare. If I didn't make a fool out of myself in Heaven, I sure did today. Fuck.  
_

-

_Seriously, what **is** he writing all the time? It's driving me crazy._

_-_

_I think Micheal is enjoying how absolutely awful I am at fighting. Self-defense, my eye. Those two are laughing at me inside, I know it!_

-

_She worked on my chest last week. Most of the physical stuff looks a lot better. Easier to breathe too. Can't wait to do my back! I want to lie down again._

-

_Nope. That did not go well. Angel came to the rescue. I wanted to surprise him with it. Bad idea!_

_He's making tea now. He's good to me._

-

 _We kinda know a strategy. I'm pretty good at avoiding and deflecting things. Pretty much what we were doing before but with_ _**extra** _ _bruises._

_-_

_Aziraphale and I kissed. It felt meh, then weird, then ok, and then VERY_ _**BAD** _

_Why does my brain have to be_ _**so** _ _dramatic?  
_

_-_

_WHAAAT?!!? Hastur???? Is **not** tracking me for Hell? _

_Seriously what did I_ _**do** _ _to him? Also did I accidentally do any miracles the other night? I don't think I did. But I DON'T know._

 _I know you're not talking to me anymore. You haven't in a long time. But God_ _**please** _ _don't let me be the reason Aziraphale gets hurt._

_I'm going to ask Micheal if we can move. Should have done it today but the whole miracle tracking thing threw me off._

_A lot to take in._

_I need a nap._

-

Finally, he reaches the end.

-

_Angel, choose Heaven. Go back to your bookshop. The humans need you. No one else understands them like you._

_Please._

_-_

Aziraphale closes the book and ponders.

<~>

Aziraphale sets the journal on the table in front of Crowley. “I still choose you.”

Crowley closes his eyes and exhales. He looks up. “I choose you too.” He opens his eyes. “So we're leaving?”

“If we do this, we are severing ties. Micheal is your friend.”

“I know.” His shoulders slump a bit. “When do we leave? Can it be now?”

“I need to put a few things together. Go pack your stuff up. I have to send this out. It's a rather holy process, and I'm not sure how much it will affect you. I'd prefer to keep a good bit of distance between us two. You should stay behind the wards while I contact Heaven.”

“You'll be in danger.”

“I won't be long.”

<~>

Aziraphale carefully lays out the papers he drew the symbols on and lights the candles. It's weak, but enough to do what he needs.

“Aziraphale? This is going to send them right to your door, this better be important.” Gabriel says.

“It is.” He doesn't care about compromising their location now. They won't be here much longer.” Are you in your office?”

“Where else would I be at this time?”

“Right.” Aziraphale sends the stacks of paper and the mobile to Gabriel's desk.

"Admission of guilt?” He hears the pages being flipped through. “What is this?”

“I wrote it all down there. And Fazael has her own stack to read, information about the happenings and situations on Earth, and advice; though I figured you would want to see it first. Of course.” He pauses. Oh, and the sword.” Aziraphale summons it and puts it on the light. "I do think that is everything." He runs down his mental checklist.

"Aziraphale, what?"

"It's all in the papers."

"You're quitting." Gabriel sounds flustered. “You can't quit.”

"No. I know. My priorities have changed. There will be a great plan. It's ineffable. I know her will and I believe in it. But I cannot fight for it. Heavenly soldiers should be 100% dedicated to the cause, and I am not. I appreciate what Heaven has done, but the two of us, we are a drain and a distraction, when Heaven needs to be focused. So this is me telling you that I am removing myself from the equation.” He tugs at his vest. “We are focused on Hastur at the moment. We'll take care of that problem, hopefully at the very least without creating an even bigger mess.” He swallows.

“Azi-”

“Toodle-oo.” Aziraphale cuts the signal between them, extinguishing the candles with a flick of the wrist. Then he makes his way inside.

“Time?” Crowley asks.

“Yes. You all packed?”

Crowley nods and holds up his luggage. He's used to this by now.

“Let's go.” Aziraphale says as he tucks it away with his own. They slip away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing Crowley's journal


	20. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have run away, but something major changes.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, foxes_phandoms, for getting this back so quickly!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judicious use of italics because I don't even know how to describe all of the things these two do with their faces and their hands. They're speaking a whole other language, and y'all know I'm deaf.

They change trains three times. They travel for days. Crowley's not even sure what country they are in now. Aziraphale has two tickets for them on a sleeper train, and while he would love to sleep - he is exhausted, he's on edge. How long can they run for? Will Heaven let them go? Will the wards work? His eyes flit around the train.

<~>

They are on another train when Heaven finds them.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale puts his arm out to defend Crowley, who looks between them.

“Aziraphale. Crowley.” Micheal greets them.

“That was quicker than I thought.” Aziraphale replies.

“Your wards were good. But let's talk.”

“We don't have much other choices, do we?”

“No.” Gabriel ushers Micheal into the bench then slides down across from him. “Seriously, Aziraphale, you can't quit. It's literally impossible.”

“I thought you'd be happy to see me go, at the very least.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “You have made no secret of your opinions of me, nor your dislike of Crowley.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I may have been a bit standoffish, and Crowley _is_ a demon, we're kinda supposed to be enemies.” He pushes on.

Aziraphale doesn't listen to his excuses. There's a child crying in the compartment next to them. Gabriel makes an irritated face at the noise and continues. “Aziraphale, we're in this too deep now. That mark, it's _kinda_ a big deal. We can work this out, but we have to actually talk, not just chase after you as you guys run away. We're all wasting time, we should be focusing on the real problem, which is, as usual, Hell.”

“Metatron gave us a message.” Micheal says.

That catches their attention.

“A message?” Aziraphale says breathlessly.

“He said 'She has spoken and we are to listen." She folds her hands.

"She has _spoken?”_ Aziraphale pauses. “What did she say?"

"That was it.” She frowns and throws her hands up. “That was the whole message."

Gabriel speaks. “And the only _big_ thing that has changed has been the two of you.” He bobbles his head. “So let's talk and see if we can hear her words."

Crowley and Aziraphale trade glances. "And if you don't find the answers?" He says cautiously.

"Then we'll have hit a dead end. We're out of ideas.” Micheal touches her temples. “If her message isn't with you two, then we _don't_ know."

"We're haven't been hiding from Heaven per say,” Aziraphale tugs on his sleeve. “We're hiding from Hell. I'm fairly certain that if one of us _had_ heard from Her that we'd tell you." Aziraphale says primly.

"Don't be so literal. You know how She is.” Gabriel shoots back. 'We are _trying_ to hear, so speak."

Aziraphale shifts in his seat. “I serve Heaven. I believe in the cause. But Crowley is too important to me.” He gestures as he speaks. “Hastur is a threat, but we have ideas now. Once that threat is gone, things may change. But it does not change the fact that I am choosing Crowley. Demote me, take my wings, make me fall, none of that scares me as much as an eternity without Crowley.” He lowers his hands and squeezes Crowley's right hand.

“Aziraphale, we don't _want_ to hurt you.” Micheal says. “Falling? You're talking nonsense.”

“No. I've been planning leaving for a few weeks now. I knew that once everything had leveled out that protecting us was a drain.” He sighs. “I cannot stress enough how much we appreciate the help. But I knew it was selfish.” He continues to move his hands around as he talks. “Michael is an archangel, she should be doing more important things. Crowley and I, we're nobodies. Just two faces on Earth. We do our jobs, and sometimes each others. But her message coming from a pair of liars?” He scoffs. “Doubtful. When the Great Plan comes, if we're still around, we'll pay it back however we can, but I don't think we can help you right now.”

“We have a _lot_ of questions for you Aziraphale.” Gabriel says. “Some of the things you wrote... you need to explain things. What was your rational?” He sighs. “She is the one who decides who Falls. And she didn't fell you. So she must think you are doing the right things.” He looks baffled. “Spending so much time on Earth has undoubtedly changed part of who you are. All the work you did when you were searching for Crowley? It was astounding, we haven't seen that much work from you in a _very_ long time. You did good. And you convinced him to do good as well! A demon blessing people? And even the curses you did, you did them to the wicked or greatly caused a problem to be _much_ smaller than Hell wanted!”

Crowley isn't listening to them. Gabriel is about to snap to get his attention. The crying child from earlier starts up again. Aziraphale subtly catches his attention and makes silly faces over Gabriel's shoulder. And it's working. The child is watching him, and the cries die off. Crowley looks so incredibly fond at Aziraphale.

“Um.” Gabriel blinks down at Crowley. “How long's that been happening?”

Aziraphale's face goes blank. “I'm sorry?”

Gabriel points at Crowley. Micheal freezes. Three pairs of eyes look at the redhead.“His hand.” He gestures down to where Crowley's hands are resting on his lap.

The left mark, it's glowing gold. Crowley startles. How has he not noticed that?! It doesn't even tingle. “Wha?” He flicks his wrist in panic like the mark will slide off like water and looks over to Aziraphale. “Why's it doing that?” The gold glow fades suddenly and Crowley pokes at his hand. “Right. That's new.” It has never turned gold on it's own, only when Aziraphale touches it with his fingertips.

“ _Oh._ The message.” Micheal swallows.

“Not here.” Gabriel hushes her and looks around. “Is there someplace on here where we won't be disturbed? We really need to discuss that," He points, "but I need you to trust me. It _can't_ be out here."

They hesitate.

"Will you trust _me?"_ Michael asks Crowley. He nods slowly.

Aziraphale inclines his head. "In here."

They shuffle into the cabin, closing the door. The room is small. Michael and Gabriel sit on the unused bed while Aziraphale and Crowley sit on the other to make space.

"Very well then.” Aziraphale tugs on his bow-tie. “We're listening."

Gabriel stands up again to make sure that the door is closed tight and shields them with his powers, keeping them from being noticed by the humans or disturbed. The familiar miracle washes over them as he sits back down. "Okay. Your marks, on your left hands, the two of them need to touch. If that's what I think it is, this will make it easier for you two to believe.”

Crowley and Aziraphale think about it for a moment. He stands in front of Crowley, holding his left hand out like for a handshake. Crowley tentatively takes it, brushing the symbols together.

Light explodes out between them, and sensations wash over them. Overwhelming love and trust. It's soothing, familiar, and entirely mind-blowing. He can't think.

Bliss. Crowley. Aziraphale plops into the bed, his knees buckling. Crowley is crying, he realizes. Silent tears streaking down his cheeks. He flops over to Crowley and pulls him against him. Residual waves of warmth caress the edges of his soul. And he feels Crowley's soul against his own. Where before it was like Crowley was tied to him, now it feels like there's an open channel, and he can _really_ feel him.

Aziraphale dives into that channel. He doesn't know what's happening, he doesn't know if Crowley is feeling this too, but if he is, he has to let Crowley know he's not alone. He has to be there. _Dearest, I'm here. We'll be alright._ He murmurs and feels Crowley relax against him. _I'm here._

<~>

Gabriel and Micheal trade glances.

“I suspected.” She says.

“Well, You didn't tell _me._ ” Gabriel huffs.

“ _Well_ , he's an angel and Crowley's a demon.” She says. “And I had nothing more than suspicions. _That_ had never happened before.”

“She _must_ have a reason.” Gabriel says. “She always does. Even when we don't understand it.” He glances up “Okay, message received. Now what?”

Not surprisingly, there is no answer.

<~>

 _Wow._ is his first thought. Crowley feels like he's gone from sober to totally plastered, overwhelmed by so many feelings and sensations.

"…. and neither one of you are listening.” Crowley dimly recognizes the words, but they don't have meaning yet.

“Tattoo changed.” Crowley notes the golden glow on his hand once his eyes clear up. And then leans over to grab Aziraphale's hand to check it as well.

“We match.” Aziraphale laughs. “Your hair looks ridiculous.”

“My hair?” Crowley laughs back. Aziraphale looks like he's been struck by lightening.

“Alright lovebirds, let's pay attention.” Gabriel snaps his fingers to get their attention. “Well, haven't had to do one of these Mate things in over 5,000 years, so I might be a little rusty.”

“Mate?” Aziraphale looks up at him, trying to make sense of the word.

“So... that's what happens when the two of your marks touch. It's like a wave of light and love kinda explodes out.” He pantomimes an explosion and grimaces. “Can get messy, try not to do it by accident. It doesn't just affect you. The two of you have to learn to 'tone it down' so to say.” He sighs. Micheal and Gabriel give each other looks.

Aziraphale looks over at Crowley who still looks strung out on bliss. He grins. Crowley looks so nice when he's happy. Crowley's eye's meet his. They're mostly the same, slightly less yellow and more golden, but that's not what catches his attention. Crowley's skin is dusted in gold flecks. "You have Freckles!"

"I don't."

"You _do_!" Aziraphale insists.

"Nuh uh." Crowley argues

"Look!" Aziraphale grabs one of Crowley's wrists lightly and brings it to eye level.

"I _do_... Wot." Crowley rubs At the back of his hand. "Get them off." He follows them up his arms.

"Are these things on my face?"

Aziraphale nods.

"This is worse than sand.” Crowley groans. “It's everywhere."

Gabriel clears his throat. "Focus guys."

Crowley looks up, then blinks pointedly. "It'sss Michael and the angry one." he points.

Aziraphale glances up. "Gabriel. His name is Gabriel.”

"Right." Crowley swings his finger around. "Suppose that's easier to say. It would get confusing if I said 'angel, Angels.' Wouldn't it?"

"Yes it would.” He grins. “Wait. Angels." Aziraphale looks back, furrowing his eyebrows.”

“Yeah, are you paying attention now?” Gabriel has his hand on his arms crossed.

Aziraphale starts to reply. "Paying attention to, _oh_ , will you stop that?" Aziraphale stops mid sentence to chide him.

Crowley drops his hands. "Wasn't doing anything!"

"You're going to rub a hole right through your skin." Aziraphale t'sks at him.

“Sss like mica.” Crowley whines. “Won't come off."

"You scrubbing the flesh off your arm won't change that."

"Might."  
“It wont.” Aziraphale smacks lightly at his hand and then jumps.

“Wots wrong?” Crowley looks around.

“I _felt_ that.” Aziraphale glances up, bewildered. “How did I feel that?”

“This would be where I come in again. What one of you experiences, you both experience. Those marks on your hands, they are proof of your Bond. Your souls are like one now, they are tied together in her eyes.”

“Link.” Aziraphale brain comes back online.

“The proper word is a Soul Bond.” Gabriel says slowly. “And I'm pretty sure we're supposed to take you back with us.”

Crowley rapid fire signs as his words wash over him. Aziraphale tries to follow but only manages to identify every few signs.

“Dearest, too fast” He squints. “Slow down please.”

“Words.” Crowley finally remembers how to talk again. “Right.”

“Soul Bond.” Aziraphale says slowly.

“I thought ... didn't exist anymore.” Crowley looks down at the impossibly small Enochian symbols in his hand. “Why would she choose _us_?” And then he rounds on Aziraphale. “If you say it's ineffable!”

Aziraphale holds his hands up. “I wasn't-”

“I can _feel_ you thinking it!”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Hold on.” He whirs around. “What do you mean take us back?"

“To answer you both, we're going upstairs.” Gabriel stands. “Until the two of you do learn to control this, there's no way we can leave you on Earth. This kind of thing is bound to attract attention and as you saw, you two are pretty defenseless for a while after. So we need to leave. Now. Before anyone gets a chance to investigate this.”

Aziraphale stands. “Now?”

“Now. Get their things.”

“Micheal?” Crowley sits up. This is happening too fast, his mind feels like it's made of tar.

“Neither of you are in much state to defend yourselves right now, the safest place for you both is to come with us. Things will make sense later. But you need to come with us now.”

Micheal and Gabriel are gathering up their luggage and Crowley feels so lost. He clutches at Aziraphale's wrist. “Wait.” Crowley says sharply “Hold on.” He rubs at his eyes.

“We don't have time for this.” Gabriel huffs to Micheal. “I thought they'd listen to you.”

“They will.” She stands and walks over to Crowley and Aziraphale. “I know you both are confused and scared. That's why you ran in the first place. But things have changed, and now, the safest place for the two of you is off of this Earth.

“In Heaven.” Crowley blinks. “That's a terrible idea. I'm a demon.”

“You are a demon that's caught Hell's eyes.” She points at his hand.

“We _really_ don't have time for this. Let's go.” Gabriel snaps his fingers, and they're gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting close to what I've been looking forward to!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale have a lot of questions. and a lot of anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is... month 5 of quarantine? I have no excuses for why it's taking so long to finish this, other than well, *gestures vaguely at everything*  
> Thanks to my beta for getting this to me back so quickly!

It's suddenly bright. The air buzzes with holiness. Uriel and Sandalphon are waiting for them when they blip into appearance. Crowley scrambles away from them on sight. It's too much. He reels, trying to get as far away as possible. They are. in. Heaven. The Archangels actually brought them here, and now Uriel and _HIM_ are here. He reaches for his powers and nothing happens. He feels as thin veneer of their excuse cracks. No! He _trusted_ them. Why did he do that? He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Forsaken again. 

_Aziraphale._ He glances over. Aziraphale looks lost, so maybe his angel didn't sell him out. Oh, it hurts so much. He had allowed himself to forget what it feels like to be damaged and betrayed; to have any faintest spark of hope snuffed out. 

And then Uriel grabs his arm.

Later, Crowley won't be proud of his reaction. It's not one of his brightest ideas, but right now in this moment he is so terrified. Nothing makes sense. He twists and runs.

Crowley darts around in panic, amber eyes almost unseeing. His body twisting and turning, trying to stay upright in his mad dash to get away while also avoid them. The emotions practically overwhelm Aziraphale. He staggers under the assault of Crowley's pain.

"Crowley, it's okay." Micheal tries to calm him.

Aziraphale tries to think straight. There's  _so_ much pain. How can one body fit all that pain, and why doesn't anybody else feel it? It is so intense and he can hardly move. He knows he needs to get Crowley to calm down, but he can barely do more than breathe. "Stop it," he manages weakly as he gives up his fight with gravity and falls to his knees. "He's frightened. Leave him alone!" Aziraphale protests breathlessly. Tears swarming up in his eyes. "Crowley." Aziraphale tries to look up. The demon's emotions make it so very difficult to do. "Crowley, please." 

Michael gestures for the archangels to halt as she studies Crowley. The demon is leaking pure terror. This can wait, she decides, until Crowley and Aziraphale have a chance to think straight again. “Uriel, Sandalphon, step outside.” They look at her, unmoving. Michael raises her eyebrow and gestures for them to back away. They do, but do not leave. They look towards Gabriel.

Gabriel starts to object, and she cuts him off. “Gabriel, a word?" 

“What?”

“if you want half a chance of either of them listening to us, they need space right now.”

“Space?”

“Time. By themselves.”

"It's not protocol." He grumbles quietly to her. “We can't just leave them alone.”

"There  _is_ no protocol for a demon in heaven, and I know far more about Aziraphale and Crowley than you do.  _You_ said I was in charge. Our presence is not helping at the moment at all. Now am I in charge of this, or not?"

"You are.” He clenches his jaw. “Fine.” He motions for everyone to leave.

"Calm him down, Aziraphale.” She tells says. “We'll be back to explain things.” Micheal assures him. “But not all of us. Just promise me you'll hear us out before you act. Please.” She exits the room, and the wall smooths over behind her. He feels the miracle around the room that locks them in. The wall is even and solid, no sign of the doorway. _What now?_

They are alone in the empty room. Crowley is backed up against one wall, and him on the other side of the room. Crowley is still tense, like he could dash away at any time. "You're okay, Crowley.” He assures him. “I won't let you be harmed. I don't know what is happening, but I will keep you safe." He promises. He tries to reach out with his powers, but they slide away from him.

Crowley trembles. “I can't put them away.” Crowley tugs at one of his feathers. “I could do that much early on but now they aren't listening to me. Nothing is working.”

“Me too.”Aziraphale exhales. “Maybe it's because we're in Heaven?”

“No.” Crowley's fingers tighten. “The archangels, they don't have wings.”

Aziraphale winces a tad at the sight. “Of course they do. They're angels.” He responds which manages to draw an exasperated sound from Crowley. 

“Visible wings.” Crowley's breathing picks up. “We can't put our wings away, there's _no_ way we'd be able to hide among the humans.” The feathers crumple under his fingers What am I talking about, we'd never even get back to Earth. We're stuck here in this room. Locked away without our powers.” Crowley gestures at the wall. “That was a doorway. And now it's not! I don't even feel the space where a door could be convinced to be!” He rips his hand away and paces the length of the room.

“Dearest, you're panicking.”

“Right, dumb demon, think.” Crowley shakes his head. “Think! We're in Heaven. We're trapped. _In Heaven_.”

“Dear boy, can I touch you?”

“What? Why?” Crowley wraps his arms defensively around his chest his back to the wall.

“I simply want you to realize that you're not going through this on your own. I am right here, with you.”

Crowley slides down the wall. “Please no. don't touch.” Tears slide down his cheek. Memories haunt him. A time when touch was unpleasant. When not having his powers, being defenseless and trapped meant torture and agony. And Heaven has always been all about Divine wrath, what will they do to a demon who sullies their realm? He can't breathe, he's so scared. He shuts down again and withdraws. 

"Listen to the sound of my voice, dearest." Aziraphale says as he lowers himself to the ground. "I'm going to sit right here on the floor. You can stay over there. It's okay Crowley.” He hesitates. “I don't have anything to read to you, all of our things are still away.” He thinks. “How about I tell you a story instead? Would you like that?" He pauses again, trying to engage Crowley in even the most minuscule way. He pretends that he's getting a response. "What kind of story shall I tell? Hmm. How about I tell you something from my past then?” 

“What about my first time in the training arena? I was made as a principality. You know that I was created to protect. A sword was in my hand from the moment I was created. But being physically able is one thing. Actually knowing when to use those skills is another thing. I practiced. Got my behind handed to me a lot till I learned each lesson thoroughly. And now all of my skills are at your disposal. I will keep you safe, dear. I know far more than the lowly new angel I was thousands of years ago. There aren't children or babies here in Heaven, we don't age. _Still_ , I was green. I didn't yet know what combat was like. Micheal herself would sometimes train us, though she had far more important duties than training up a fresh batch of angels, especially the awkward ones like me.”

Crowley blinks up at him. “Awkward?”

Aziraphale makes a face. “Oh yes. You should have seen me as a fledgling.” Aziraphale chuckles. “I spent far more time learning about things than actually you know, actually picking up a sword. But that was a long, long time ago.”

“Hm.” Crowley takes off his glasses to wipe at his eyes and grimaces. “Bloody bright in here.” The room's lights automatically dim. He looks up. “Did you do that?”

Aziraphale looks just as confused. “I thought it was you.”

Crowley's nerves are already frazzled. “If I still had any power, don't you think I'd have done something else, or at the very least have made a bed."

The room shifts around them again. The room now has a rather large bed with gold and white colored blankets and pillows. There are actual lamps now, though they are draped over with fabric. Crowley looks around in confusion.“Okay. Magic room. Got any ideas?”

Aziraphale shakes his head.

“Didn't think so.” Crowley runs his hands nervously through the feathers on one of his wings. “I'm going to keep freaking out then.”

“No, let's be calm. This doesn't seem like something one would do when they're going to punish us.”

“That's what they want you to think! That's what the humans did. Sometimes they would make things good for a bit. And then when you'd least expect it, **wham** , it hits way worse!” Crowley starts pacing as he studies the walls. “Not falling for that again.” 

Aziraphale looks the mark on his palm. He needs to know more about it. His shoulders droop. “We really should hear them out.”

“NO. We shouldn't even be here.” Crowley slides his hand along the walls. “There has to be a way out of here.” He examines every inch of the room with his hands. Finally he pulls back his hand and punches what feels like the weakest part of the wall.

Nothing happens. Crowley breaks into tears, resting his forehead against the wall. “We're  _stuck._ ” 

Aziraphale hovers near him, wanting so bad to check his hand for injuries and trying his best to respect Crowley's need to not be touched. “We're  _together._ ”

<~>

Aziraphale is sitting on the bed, not doing much of anything when he feels the door appear again a few hours later. He sits up. Gabriel steps into the room, then looks around. “Where's the demon?”

“His name is Crowley,” Aziraphale snaps. “And keep your voice down! He's finally sleeping, you have no idea how difficult it was to manage that.”

Gabriel looks around. "Where's he sleeping?” 

“Down there.” Aziraphale gestures.

“In _Hell_?” Gabriel's brows furrow.

“No!” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Under the bed.”

Gabriel bends down and looks for himself. Crowley's on his belly, wrapped himself around a white pillow, his wings awkward in the cramped space, but covering his back. Curly red tresses spill out on the floor with Crowley breath making slight puffs on it in his sleep. “Why?” Gabriel stands back up.

Aziraphale has no idea how to explain this. He settles for: “He's burrowing.”

“Burrowing?”

Aziraphale sighs exasperatedly. “He's part snake. He hides himself when he feels like he's in danger.”

“In danger?” Gabriel says confused. “From what?”

“From YOU.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes harder because it's obvious. “You snatched us off the train, and now we're here locked up in Heaven in a room that only has a door some of the time and our powers don't work. And no one has told us _**WHY**_ _._ ” His voice raises and he has to force himself to be quieter. “Last time he was here, he had to relive the worst experiences of his _life_ while you debated about how to handle him, and then you brought holy water into the mix and made him suffer even _more._ Do you have any idea how much healing he needed afterwords?"

"I  _am_ sorry about all of that."

"Tell that to Crowley." Aziraphale snaps back. “When you actually mean it.”

"She has plans, and it seems like they include the two of you."

"That doesn't change how you treated him, or me. For the last couple of years you have acted like I was a stain on your newest suit.” Aziraphale purses his lips. “And I put up with it. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle. But  _Crowley_ , it was hard work getting him to trust me,” Aziraphale taps his chest. “And he has very little trust for any of you archangels, except Michael. She's the only one who bothered trying to earn it. She's the only one who actually treats him like a person.” Aziraphale snaps. “Which he is.” He straightens his shoulders. “I will  _not_ let you hurt him. He isn't a nuisance that you only acknowledge when he's useful.”

"Okay, I deserve your anger. It's justified.” Gabriel holds his hands up to calm Aziraphale. “I haven't been the nicest to you, I admit that.” He exhales. “Her actions don't make sense to me. She sees something I don't yet. But I don't have to understand her orders. I'm to carry them out.” He sets his shoulders. “That bond there, currently you are the only two in the entire universe who have it. It's been a long time since any of us have seen it." He rubs at his forehead. “and I am trying to prevent the two of you from doing anything else stupid. so, that's why I'm here. To explain things to you.”

“Crowley already had an _awful_ panic attack.” Aziraphale glares. “You are _not_ waking him back up.”

Gabriel massages his temples. “Do you want answers or not?”

“No. Crowley is sleeping.” Aziraphale frowns at him, glaring spitefully. “Let. Him. _Sleep._ ”

“Fine. Call me when he's awake.”

“Call you, with what?” Aziraphale frowns. “You still have all of our stuff.”

A mobile appears on the bed next to him. 

“With that.” Gabriel motions and the doorway blinks away and the room goes dim again. Aziraphale looks at the wall/sometimes doorway for a long time and thinks. It's quite a surprise when he hears a quiet voice.

“Is he gone?" 

Aziraphale startles, as lost in thought as he'd been. "Crowley?" He pops his head over the side of the bed. Crowley's golden freckles catch the dim light. "Crowley!"

"Shh!" Crowley motions to him, as if his voice will summon the archangel.

Aziraphale carefully crouches down. "Why are we whispering?" He answers back.

Crowley shoots him a look of disbelief. "Archangel. You  _yelled_ at him.” Crowley shivers.

"Oh dearest, I will not let anyone touch you. I swear."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true, dearest."

"But I led them to us in the first place." Crowley turns over his palm.

"I have a mark too." Aziraphale lifts his palm.

"Becaussse of me!" Crowley hisses. “It'sss all my fault.”

"Scootch over." Aziraphale motions.

"No!” Crowley blocks him. “Ss'not dignified! Crawling under the bed."

"You're under it." 

"Yeah, but you're an angel,” Crowley looks away. “And me... I'm a mess."

"Crowley you're being ridiculous." Aziraphale squeezes in. "Tight fit." He wrinkles his nose as he tries to adjust his wings.

Crowley presses his head against the tile floor in shame.

"Dear boy, what do you need right now?"

Crowley shrugs. “Keep talking.” Crowley reaches his unbonded hand to Aziraphale. “And hold this.”

“I can do that.” Aziraphale takes his hand. “Cozy, huh? This would be easier if we could put our wings away. I guess I should thank Micheal for starting to get me in shape."

“You were a shape.”

“But not a particularly angelic one.”

“You're Aziraphale shaped.” Crowley, though he's getting regular meals now, still looks way too trim. He's usually got four or five layers of clothes on, because he's cold but when he takes them off he looks a bit fragile. All sharp and bony. Aziraphale though is soft and lovely.

They lay under the bed for several hours. Crowley spends a good deal of time crying. Aziraphale manages to draw laughter from him by trying to recite French poetry from memory after he runs out of stories he vaguely remembers. Eventually they make it out from under the bed and rest on top of it. Crowley is still tense, but he falls into an exhausted slumber with Aziraphale's wings resting on him.

<~>

A great deal later- if this was Earth it would likely be the next day (Aziraphale has never paid too much attention to the passage of time. Crowley though, his demon likes regular rest.) they are still in bed. Crowley lays and unmoving, but Aziraphale knows he's awake by how tense he gets. Aziraphale sits up and wonders what will happen now. He picks up the mobile phone, debating before finally sending a brief text. Then he gently shakes Crowley awake.

The doorway pops back into existence and someone knocks. There's a door. An actual door. Aziraphale braces himself. Crowley, the mass of anxiety that he is, thanks anybody he had his glasses on already before he faces whoever comes through that door.

"It's me." Michael's familiar voice rings out.

Aziraphale relaxes a little. So far, they've been able to trust her to be honest. Crowley though is still tense.

“Where are we?” Crowley demands. His voice is dry after crying for so long and sleeping.

“As custom, you're in the old soul-bond quarters”

“I'm not surprised.” Aziraphale chimes. “Far away from everyone. Keep the demon out of sight.” He rolls his eyes.

“It's nothing like that.” She assures them. “Soul bonds take a while to get used to. There is much you must know now.”

“Zira.” Crowley rumbles as he touches his arm. He pulls his feet up and wraps his wings around himself, perching on the edge of the bed. He splays his hand out, looking at the mark on his palm. "Let her talk." He rasps.

Michael snaps and a water pitcher appears.

Crowley finches violently, scrambling backwards until there is solid wall behind his back. "Wait, please no. I'll do whatever you want. Michael please!"

Aziraphale blocks him protectively, raising his wings. “No you don't.”

"Guys, it's regular water. For his throat." she assures Aziraphale. "You can check it Aziraphale, alright?” She sets it down on the a table that appears and backs away. 

Aziraphale creeps forward and inspects the water, touching the pitcher. He pours himself a cup and studies it, and extends his senses before tasting it. Finally, he passes it to Crowley. “It is plain water.”

“I know things are confusing. What you're feeling right now, that bond takes getting used to. That's one of the things you two have to do. Learn how to separate your own emotions from your partner's. Learn to live with it. Manage it. Crowley, you're frightened and it's affecting Aziraphale. Your emotions are stronger than his right now.”

“I'm affecting Aziraphale?” He ventures. That seems like a safe place to start. “Why?”

“How much do you remember about what happened on the train?”

Crowley frowns. “It's...”

“Muddled.” Aziraphale suggests.

“Do you remember what happened when your marks touched?”

“It got glowey? And explodey? Aziraphale answers when Crowley doesn't.

Crowley nods in agreement. “Blootered.”

Aziraphale chuckles a bit. “Em, yes. I certainly felt quite drunk.”

“All of that, they're common indicators of a soul bond.”

“What exactly is a soul bond?”

“Soul bonds were a gift from her. When she blessed a relationship, she would tie those souls together. It's a deep connection, where your souls are bound. Some mates could even communicate through their links. Often times dreams or feelings would bleed through; like right now.”

“That's really what you think is happening with us?”

“I _have_ thought it for some time. Now Aziraphale, I do not think it. I _know_ it.” She pauses. “Us archangels, we used to help teach angels about their soul bonds. And you two _are_ mates. The first mates in thousands of years.” She clasps her hands. “And what happened on the train, it will continue to happen again _._ Every time your marks touch. The simplest way to put this, it's like you are each holding part of each other's souls in the palm of your hands, and when they touch, your souls meet. And that raw power is let loose. Eventually you will learn how to contain that power. You're not here in these quarters because we're hiding you away. You're here because it's the safest place for new mates to be. This building was made special by her. This room responds to you, becomes what you need. And also, it is quite strong.”

“Strong?” Crowley swallows.

“Well, the whole exploding light thing, you have to learn to _minimize_ it. The powers in that light, it's like a radio. Broadcasting your feelings and the divine blessing she placed upon you.”

Aziraphale sits up. “Divine? Crowley's a demon.”

“Indeed. I didn't know a demon could be an angel's mate. But she wouldn't have given you her blessing if you weren't capable of withstanding it.”

Crowley throws up a hand for her to stop. And then he starts to sign. Aziraphale thinks he sees Hastur's name, but Crowley's grasp of sign language is better than Aziraphale's, especially at this angle.

Crowley signs fast, getting more excited. He isn't sure how clearly he's thinking, but it just might work.

Micheal looks at him, considering what he said. She signs back to him, just as rapid. Aziraphale feels left out of the conversation. It's his own fault. Languages are his weakness, and this is how Crowley prefers to communicate when he is overwhelmed.

“He, uh, he has a point.”

“I didn't _quite_ follow all of that.” Aziraphale adjusts his bowtie.

Crowley touches his hand. “What if we don't.”

“Don't?”

“Contain it. We use it instead!” Crowley holds his hands out and taps at the mark. “Demons? Her love?” He swallows. Crowley gestures at his hand. He shakes his hand. “Boom.”

“If the two of you learn to amplify it instead... perhaps it will catch them off guard or weaken them enough to give us the advantage.”

Aziraphale blinks. “But wouldn't that take us out of the game?”

“Yes, it will. But it's an idea.” Micheal ponders. “We never considered using it as a weapon. It's risky.”

“So the two of us, go down there and potentially sacrifice ourselves? And then what? Hell retaliates? When does it end?”

“We'll keep working on details, it's a starting point. Regardless, the two of you need to learn how to manage the day to day aspects of being mates. And I can't teach you on my own.”

Crowley swallows anxiously.

“No Sandalphon.” Aziraphale demands.

“Rafael used to do most of the work with me.” She looks a little sad. “He's been away for almost as long as bonds have been gone. I think he felt too guilty about what happened to those whose mates fell. And Gabriel would help us too.”

“Just the two of you?” Crowley chews on his lip.

“Yes.”

“And our things?”

“I have them.” She gestures and their luggage appears.

“What about our powers?”

“They'll return in time. New mates would often unintentionally hurt each other with their powers.”

“For our own good.” Aziraphale scowls.

“Look, why don't the two of you take some time to let this information sink in.”

“I'd rather have a cup of tea and some breakfast.” Aziraphale frowns.

“I think I can manage that.” Micheal smiles.

<~>

Their quarters are relatively plain. The touches of gold are nice bits of color among the whiteness, but Crowley bemoans the loss of his violet plant.

“It's tucked away safe.” Aziraphale reminds him.

Crowley touches one of the walls. There are no windows here. No blue sky. His chest aches. The air feels a bit like it's buzzing, and when he closes his eyes, he can feel it tingle. Crowley slumps onto the bed. At least there is only one bed in their room.

Aziraphale's fingers thread through his hair. “Oh, my darling chuckaboo.”

Crowley feels himself untense finally. “Tired.” He admits.

“Then sleep.”

“Wha's hap'ning to me?” He yawns and feels his jaw pop.

“Nothing that will change if you rest for a bit. Gabriel and Micheal seem pretty certain of this whole business.

“Might though...” Crowley scratches idly at his neck

Aziraphale climbs up on the bed next to him. “I'll feel it, if something does start affecting you like the rest, I'll wake you. But I think our marks have to be touching, I don't think it'll just happen.”

"I don't... I'm not staying here. In heaven. Don't belong."

"Not permanently, dear, but it makes sense for us to learn about this in Heaven. After all, Hell would sense it anywhere else."

"Don't want... My place is on Earth."

"We will go back once it's safe, once we are ready.”

“Did I, did I mess things up?” Crowley asks softly, his voice trembling. “With my stupid freakout.”

“You stop that.” Aziraphale gently chides him. “You did not mess up anything, and you're not stupid. But you are tired.”

“I am.”Crowley yawns and clears his throat. “Will you, uh, cover me with your wing again?”

"Of course dear.” He spreads his wings so one of them rests over Crowley's blanketed form.

“Soft.” Crowley closes his eyes. “Love you angel.” He slurs as he closes his eyes.

“I love you too.” He says fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we're getting closer to tying things up I'm not sure how many more chapters we've got, but this is certainly the pushing us towards the climax.


End file.
